


Dark Kisses

by TheSigyn



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 01:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 113,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSigyn/pseuds/TheSigyn
Summary: Angel stayed, married Buffy, kept the Ring of Amara, and it was the perfect happily ever after! Until Buffy met with Spike in a dark cemetery. Now she has to choose. Will she cling to nobility in the light, or seek deep kisses in the darkness?





	1. The Freshman Bride

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-wise, this story begins in a season four prompted by the events in the prologue. Reasons for it all eventually become clear. All of canon is unchanged until the episode Prom. 
> 
> Circumstances that occurred after Prom were predominantly the same as canon. The only changes are as follows: 
> 
> -Buffy never got romantically close to Riley (of course.) She married Angel just after Graduation.
> 
> -Oz stayed with Willow despite cheating on her with Veruca. Said cheating went on for a month in this story.  
> Spike still achieved the Gem of Amara, lost it to Buffy, and Buffy gave it to Angel. Instead of destroying it as in canon, Angel kept it to make his relationship with Buffy easier.
> 
> -Once Spike was captured by the Initiative, their plans for his use were never thwarted by his escape. We get to see what those were.
> 
> -Cordelia returned to Sunnydale after the vampire attack she fell victim to in Angel the Series. She took up with Xander again on a friends-with-benefits basis.
> 
> -Other changes for Angel the Series will not be discussed on page, except that Doyle still found and recruited Angel for the Powers That Be.
> 
> While all of this is included in the text, I thought readers might like an off-canon notation cheat sheet.
> 
>  
> 
> Betaed by ZabJade and bewildered, and a bit by EllieRose. Banner by javajunkie247. Second banner by nmcil.

 

 

Prologue

(The Prom)

 

   Buffy had gotten in late this morning. Joyce was concerned. It was too late to nip this relationship in the bud, but maybe she could stop it from growing like kudzu and taking over the whole of Buffy’s life. She had just put her hand on her purse to head out and have a proper, adult conversation with the vampire about Buffy – her age, her inexperience, what it would all mean to commit to someone this early in her life – when she felt something.

   It was like the whisper of a kiss against her temple, a breath, a sigh, but it tickled right through her brain, and made her feel a little dizzy. She sat down for a moment on the kitchen stool and rested her head in her hand. Just for a moment...

   A moment later she lifted her head, feeling clear. What was she doing? Oh, right, she was going to talk to Angel. She glanced at the clock. Damn, twenty minutes had passed. She was going to be late to the gallery. When would she get another chance to see Angel while Buffy was busy in school? She didn’t have another morning off until after the weekend.

   Oh, well. It wasn’t as if Buffy was going to change her mind any time soon. Joyce could always talk to Angel another day.

 

***

   “You...” Buffy looked up in surprise as Angel walked into the prom. He’d told her pretty concretely that he wasn’t sure he should go. “You came.”

   “I... it’s just tonight,” he said. “I mean, your age... you... this is... such a high school thing.”

   “Can we... can’t we just dance?” she asked.

   “That’s why I came.”

   They danced slow, for two songs. Then a faster one came on, and Angel led Buffy away from the gymnasium. “I...” Buffy twirled her new Class Protector parasol. She wasn’t really ready to leave yet, but where Angel went, she followed.

   “Look. Buffy,” he said. “I... know... I know I’ve been distant lately.”

   “Well, you have been making with the remote, just a bit,” she admitted.

   “It... it was what the mayor said,” Angel admitted. “He’s right, you know. There’s things... we have to take into account. Things about the future.”

   “What future?” Buffy asked. “Slayer girl, right? We have a pretty limited expiration date.”

   “I know that. And I’m... immortal.”

   “Well, unless you keep annoying me with the cryptic,” she said, half joking. “I have a stake right where I can get at it.”

   He wasn’t amused. “Buffy, we have to make a decision. You have no idea how fast life goes. One day everything’s prom dresses and college applications, and the next it’s black dresses and funerals.”

   “Gee.” Buffy glared. “Thanks for getting my perfect night all drenched in bleck.”

   “Buffy, I’m being serious,” Angel said. “We can’t just keep... going as we are.”

   “Why can’t we?”

   “Buffy–”

   “No, why can’t we? We’re happy, right? You and me? Together? I mean, I know it’s… awkward with some of the stuff, but I don’t care about that. I swear, Angel, that’s not what I want.” She’d been feeling this brewing for weeks. Ever since the Mayor brought up the whole thing about aging and Angel kept being grouchy about prom. He’d been distant, moody. It was scaring her. “I just want  _you_. You know that, right? Just you, soul, heart, just kisses in the moonlight and us. It’s where we belong.”

   “I… don’t think it’s working as it is, Buffy. Faith, the Mayor, we’re in danger every minute….”

   “Don’t,” she said, her voice throbbing with quiet desperation. “No, please, Angel. Don’t.” He couldn’t possibly mean to break up with her. Could he? “Please. I love you.”

   “And I... love you.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was a ring that sparkled in the streetlights. It was another claddagh ring, but this time the heart was a diamond, and the band was purest gold. “Buffy, will you marry me?”

   Buffy’s nervous, frowning face broke into an excited grin, and she jumped up into his arms. “ANGEL!” she squealed. “You scared the hell out of me!” She smothered him with kisses.

   “Is... that a yes?” Angel asked, half laughing.

   “OF COURSE!”

   When she announced it to Joyce in the morning, her ring sparkling like a firework, and announced a wedding date for just after graduation, Joyce sighed. It looked like it was too late for her and Angel to have that adult talk.

   Hopefully it was all going to work out all right.

  
  


Chapter 1

   

   Buffy and Angel lounged happily under a tree on the campus, the midday sun sparkling off Buffy’s claddagh ring, and Angel’s new ring of Amara. The two rings clicked lightly as Buffy laced her hands through his. She gazed up at him adoringly. “Did you know your hair has a little red in it in the sunlight?”

   “Does it?” Angel reached up and touched it, but of course it wasn’t long enough to look at closely.

   “It does.” She wouldn’t stop smiling. “Was it like that when you were human?”

   “It might have been,” he said. “I can’t really remember.”

   She was beaming as brightly as the sunlight. “I just can’t get over looking at you in, like, day.”

   “I can’t get over looking at you, either,” Angel said. “You are so beautiful in the sunlight.” She was. Her blonde hair shone buttery yellow and her skin positively glowed. That was where Buffy belonged. In the sunlight. It was strange that he got to be here with her now, thanks to this magical ring. He took his hand back from hers and touched the Gem of Amara briefly with his thumb, considering. Very strange. Buffy belonged in the sunlight, but he still wasn’t sure that he did.  

   “Do you think you’ll ever get a tan?” Buffy asked, rolling over and basking in a sunbeam.

   “I don’t know,” Angel said. “Never thought about it.”

   “Spike was wondering if he’d freckle when I took the ring off him.”

   “Well, he’s got other things to think about, now,” Angel said darkly.

   That was one shadow in their new sunlight. Spike was still lurking around Sunnydale, getting in the way. At first he and Buffy had thought they’d have to get rid of him, but according to certain sources they had he wasn’t killing humans. He’d taken to hunting demons, and he usually wasn’t alone. Sometimes he had other vampires around him – minions, Angel supposed, but there was something off about them. More often than not though, recently he’d been surrounded by more of those military commandos, whose presence in Sunnydale was still a bit of a mystery. They didn’t seem to get in Buffy’s way often, though Angel distrusted anything to do with Spike.

   “Dangerous things,” he added. “With guns.”

   “Yeah. I would have thought gunslingers were beneath someone like Spike,” Buffy said. “I thought he was more the tough and brawl guy. Though, he did call in that Order of Terraforming.”

   Angel didn’t bother correcting her on the Order of Taraka. “Spike can be unpredictable. If he’s got some plan he thinks is brilliant, he could do almost anything.” Angel still couldn’t quite forget that Buffy had once been allied with the guy. Granted, it was while Angel had been evil, but the idea that Buffy would even talk to Spike... it irked him. Fortunately all Spike seemed to want to do once he’d found the Gem of Amara was use it to kill Buffy, so things seemed to be back on familiar ground now.

   “He can make alliances when he needs to,” Buffy said.

   “Yeah.” Angel managed not say something pointed and hurtful. He wasn’t even sure why he still felt wounded by Buffy’s alliance and Spike’s betrayal. He had been evil then. It was even what he, his souled self, would have  _wanted_  them to do given the circumstances. But still... emotions didn’t always make sense, and the soul couldn’t always logic down the demon within him.

   “Tell me,” Buffy asked. “Do you think he sought out and signed up with the commandos on his own, or do you think they went out and recruited him?”

   “I don’t know.” Angel’s thumb went back to the band on his finger again, caressing the old gold. “I just wish we knew what his plan was.”

   An awkward silence settled over the picnic blanket. Buffy flipped over again onto her stomach and kicked her feet in the air. “Let’s not talk about Spike,” she said, propping her head on her hand.

   “You’re the one who brought him up.”

   “I was just thinking about the ring,” Buffy said. “It’s changed our lives, like... almost completely.”

   “The picnics are nice, aren’t they?” Angel asked. They’d been having a lot of picnics lately. These months since Buffy had taken the Gem of Amara, Angel’s life with her had become almost... normal. He’d been able to go to parties with Buffy, meet some of her college friends, more than just the Scoobies. They’d gone swimming at the beach. They’d played volleyball. They’d watched a rainbow.

   “It’s just so….” She sighed contentedly. “We can do so much now that we just... we couldn’t before,” Buffy said. She crept up the picnic blanket and over Angel’s lap, staring into his face. “It’s really... really nice. How much we can do now.”

   “Um. Yeah.” Buffy’s hand was sort of on his inner thigh, and that always made him uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

   “It’s just so great that we’re, like... on the same page now.” She snuggled up closer against his cool vampire chest. “Both in the light.”

   “Yeah. It’s... nice.”

   Then she kissed him, warm and smooth and passionate, bringing her teeth into it. He pulled away from those teeth – they always gave him unpleasant ideas – and turned the kiss sweet again. No more passion with Buffy. It wasn’t worth the heartache.

   He broke the kiss and put his arm around Buffy’s shoulder, sort of shifting her sideways, hoping her hand would slide off his thigh. It didn’t. She slid it more determinedly between his legs. Dammit. If she didn’t stop it was going to have the inevitable effect, and that would only frustrate him. It was true that they were married. It was true that they loved each other. It was true that the ring made it possible for him to do a lot of things with Buffy that they hadn’t been able to do before.

   He still couldn’t risk making love to her, and that was that.

   But Buffy was a vibrant young woman of nineteen, and her libido was exactly as powerful as one would have expected from someone her age. While everyone else around her was experimenting, dating, sleeping around, exploring their sexualities, Buffy was patiently and sometimes petulantly pushing Angel as far as she could without actually going over the line into forcing him. Angel was used to being the one doing the seducing, and Buffy’s pushing was often really irritating. She knew they couldn’t. But she seemed determined to get as much from Angel as she could, and she was demanding of what physical affection she could claim from him. He tried to keep her at a distance, because it made holding back from finishing it easier. He’d even insisted finally on separate bedrooms. But she would not ease up.

   Angel spotted a reprieve across the quad, and called out a hallo. “Oz! Willow! Over here!”

   “Hey, guys!” Willow waved happily and pulled Oz behind her up to the picnic blanket.

   Buffy frowned, another dark shadow trickling over her bright face. “Did you have to?” she whispered to Angel. “I’m not up for drama right now.”

   “They haven’t been fighting, have they?” Angel asked.

   “Not at the moment,” Buffy said, but she smiled as they came over.

   “Come on, sit down,” Angel said, shifting over, half hoping it would dislodge Buffy. It didn’t. “Have some. We’ve got plenty.” It wasn’t as if he was eating any of it.

   “You hungry?” Willow asked Oz.

   “I could eat.”

   “When couldn’t you eat?” Buffy teased. Oz was laconic, but his appetite, especially near the full moon, fairly legendary. Giles said it was due to the immense amount of energy it took to shift from human into wolf form.

   The witch and the werewolf sat down, and Oz lay down and laid his head in Willow’s lap. Buffy’s eyes locked on Angel’s. “ _Forced much?”_  she mouthed.  

   It did look forced, but Willow seemed pleased with it. Oz and Willow had been alternatively sullenly dramatic or demonstratively affectionate for the last few weeks. It had been touch and go for a while as to whether they'd stay together at all, after some sort of soap opera drama that Angel hadn't quite got all the details of, but had been ashamedly pleased about. For once the problem wasn't him and Buffy.

   Willow had cried in Buffy’s arms for hours in the living room at Crawford Street the morning after the full moon, slightly wounded, but smelling of blood, which had been a big distraction. Angel’s demonic tendencies often got excited by women crying, so he hated seeing it. When he’d asked what was going on all he got was a garbled monologue from Buffy.

   “Oz has been cheating on her with some girl called Veruca, who it turns out is a werewolf, too, and Oz brought her in with him to keep her away from humans, but Willow caught them sort of, um... wolfy style? When she came in? And then she sort of...  _accidentally_  opened the cage, and Veruca got out. That’s a scratch, not a bite, by the way, so I don’t think Willow’s infected, but Oz has been hanging out with Veruca a lot lately, like at the Bronze and stuff, and he confessed when he turned back that they’ve been... um... doing it... since last month. When he also locked her up.”

   “But now Veruca’s out there, and I don’t know how to find her!” Willow had wailed.

   “Would she still have your blood on her claws?” Angel had asked. “I can track her by that, I think.” He made sure his ring was firmly on, and rushed out into the daylight to find the she-wolf. But the scent trail vanished and all he managed to find was Oz. Oz had been packing up his van.

   “Are you leaving?” Angel asked.

   “I don’t know. I think maybe I should.” He sat down on the back of the van and buried his head in his hands.

   “Do you want to leave Willow?” Angel asked.

   “I... don’t,” Oz said. “But the wolf is always in me. Veruca said that, and she was right. I can’t deny that.” He looked shrewdly at Angel. “Do you ever forget that you’re a vampire?”

   “Never,” Angel said. “It’s with me every hour of every day.”

   “Even when you’re with Buffy?”

   “Especially when I’m with Buffy.”

   Oz had only nodded, going back to his usual laconic self, but he hadn’t left. Whatever he said to Willow, they had decided to stay together. Things were strained now between them, but just like Buffy and Angel, they were  _determined_  to make it work.

   And apparently determined to make Buffy think about sex a lot, because they were fondling and caressing and basically falling all over each other. Which did not induce Buffy to get up and stop fondling her husband, much to Angel’s irritation.

   It was a bit of a save for a while. Buffy wouldn’t let go of him, but she wasn’t pushing the matter too hard. It wasn’t until Oz and Willow got up to go half an hour later that Buffy flat out rolled over and said, “They’re gone.”

   “Yeah.” Angel looked deep into her eyes.

   Her weight atop him become more demanding, and she pushed him onto his back on the picnic blanket. “Uh–”

   “I want cuddles,” Buffy said in her little girl voice.

   Angel sighed and put his arms around her. “Okay,” he conceded. “Cuddles.” It wasn’t that he disliked these, it was just that when he did them he always wanted to have sex, and he couldn’t, so it got frustrating. Not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been easier to just leave her.

   But that would have meant leaving this. Her scent, and her hair in the sunlight, and the sound of her heart, and her pert little breasts, and her beauty. He loved to feel her against him, so small and vulnerable, so young and so pure. She was his salvation.

   Buffy slipped her knee between his and squeezed him, and Angel caressed her hair. Buffy sighed with contentment. “You know, I am pretty nearly perfectly happy,” she murmured.

   “Buffy–”

   “I am,” she said. “You make me feel so....” She swallowed, as if she couldn’t find the words. “I love you so much.”

   “And I love you,” Angel whispered. “Don’t ever forget it.”

   “I never do,” Buffy said. “Everything’s perfect.”

   “I don’t know about perfect,” Angel said, wrestling with his arousal.

   “No,” Buffy insisted. “I’m completely happy. And with the ring, there’s nothing missing at all.”

   “Buffy–”

   “Nothing,” she said firmly. “Nothing. I love you, Angel. I have you. We have the daylight and the future and each other. There’s nothing else I could possibly want. I’m perfectly, perfectly happy.”

   

 


	2. Subject 17

   “Happy now?”

   “Perfectly,” Spike growled. He snatched up the bag of blood from the table and ripped it open with his teeth. He didn’t even bother fanging up for it these days. He knew the blood was drugged, but he was past either feeling the drug or avoiding it. He knew he was officially an addict. He couldn’t care anymore.

   It didn’t help that it was the only human blood he could access these days.

   He sucked it out of the bag and eyed his keeper. Finn was an abusive ass with a bigger goody-two-shoes complex than most of the buggers in the Initiative. Spike wondered what his blood would taste like, if he could get past the pain in his head to rip the bastard’s throat out. Probably weak, but with too much testosterone. Finn looked back without any sense of security in his eyes, false or otherwise. Finn didn’t trust Spike. It was Finn’s job not to trust Spike. And it was Spike’s prerogative to envision murdering him over and over and over again every time he gave him his nightly allotment of blood.

   “If you didn’t stay out so late, you wouldn’t have to wait for it,” Finn pointed out for the umpteenth time.

   “If you didn’t make this place a miserable military hell hole, I might be tempted to hang about in it more,” Spike said. “Ever thought of sprucing the place up? A couple throw pillows, a few chained victims, a rotting cadaver or two?” As Finn’s eyes narrowed, Spike smirked. “Oh, I forgot. You got those down on the lower levels, yeah?”

   “Only monsters,” Finn said. “Like you.”

   “Well, you could always bring them up to the lobby,” Spike joked. “Give the place a bit of color.” He’d color the place if he had a chance. Use Finn’s bile to paint the walls and his blood as a nice carpet.

   Ah, and a couple hanging ornaments in the form of Dr. Walsh’s watery blue eyes. “If it isn’t Dr. Moreau,” he said as she came in. He never called her anything but Moreau. It annoyed everyone, but it was the only recourse he had, given how completely she had control of his life. He couldn’t afford to offend her more directly. “More vivisection in mind?”

   “Just a blood draw tonight,” she said, but Spike was already rolling up his sleeve. He knew how this went. “And a quick monitor for your chip.”

   “You’re not going to try and ‘perfect’ the thing again, are you?” he asked. “Last time you tweaked it I couldn’t see straight for two bloody days.”

   “If the reaction is still coming through at a steady pulse there should be no need for further perfection,” Walsh said, putting the monitor crown on his head. “Not yet anyway. Has he had his rations?”

   “Just finished them now,” Finn said, indicating the empty blood bag on the table.

   “I’d like you to increase them for a couple days,” she said, talking over Spike’s head as if he wasn’t there. “The last blood draw seemed short on red blood cells, and I’ll need some good infusions in before the end of the week.”

   “Going to suck me up to the vacuum again?” Spike asked.

   “It won’t cause any decrease in function,” Walsh said, and Spike rolled his eyes. He was already decreased in function these days. He’d been poked, prodded, injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and  _perfected_  more times than he could count in the last three months. He should never, never, never, nevernevernevernevernever have come back to Sunnydale. Never. Damn bloody stupid thing to do.

   But he couldn’t get the slayer out of his thoughts, and with Dru uninterested in making up he’d come back to claim the last gift she’d ever given him; the vision she’d had of the location of the Gem of Amara. Gem of Amara would equal invulnerability, and invulnerability would equal killing the slayer, and killing the slayer would equal getting her permanently and completely out of his head, and with her blood swimming about inside his body that would mean he owned her entire, and that would mean he’d bloody won. That was the plan.

   Instead he’d gotten distracted by a little blonde chippy called Harmony that he’d taken on as a bed minion, and then Harmony had thrown the plan, and then Buffy had recognized and stolen the ring, and then she’d gone and given it to bloody _Angel_  of all bastards, and that was that for getting the ring back. Angel or Buffy, he knew he could probably take on. Angel  _and_  Buffy? Yeah. He already knew he couldn’t take them both alone.

   His next plan to kill Buffy had still been formulating when he’d been caught by the Initiative, and every plan he’d ever had for his life from then on was completely and utterly thwarted.

   First they’d shoved this chip up his head. Then they’d twisted him up with drugs. He’d managed to escape once, but with nowhere to go and no way to get blood, he’d starved and grown weak. He’d debated going and throwing himself on Buffy’s mercy, but he’d dismissed that plan almost immediately. Buffy’s mercy he could probably rely on, since he had been her ally once. She was a white-hat through and through. But Angel’s mercy... well. He already knew such mercy as Angel had, even with the soul, did not extend to his own kinfolk. Grandsire he may have been, but Angel had sent him off in the middle of the ocean to fend for himself once, he sure as shite would do it again in a mere sea of enemies.

   So Finn had caught Spike again fairly quickly. After that, there seemed nothing to do but what the Initiative wanted of him. And what they wanted of him was for him to be their bloody rat terrier. Go into the hole and kill the rats, pet. Us precious commando jobbies can come in after.

   Well, Spike had done what they’d wanted, as had a handful of other vampires they’d chipped up. There weren’t many. Spike had realized not all the vampires they tried the chip on survived the procedure. Trouble was, not many of them survived the rat hunts, either. Most vampires just weren’t strong enough to survive a battle with a full demon, let alone a battle they hadn’t chosen themselves. The dumb fledges kept dusting all around him, and by the time a month had gone by, he was the only chipped vamp left.

   After that he’d started going for walks. He’d clear out a nest of Chual or Tapac demons, the commandos would come in to clear up and collect specimens, and he’d stroll casually out the back. They had implanted a tracking device in his back, where he couldn’t bloody reach it, and then informed him it would explode if he tried to take it out, which would sever his spinal cord. That would mean dust. Spike believed them. He also believed them about the chip in his head, that it would short out his neural functions if he tried to take  _that_  out. That would mean a lifetime as a vegetable, and he was too much of a blood drinker for that to seem preferable.

   But the fact that the Initiative knew where he was, and the fact that he couldn’t eat people, didn’t mean he wanted to be a god damned pet. If he was going to be their faithful dog, he’d be a guard dog. A guard dog might be stuck behind a fence, but he wasn’t on a god damned leash!

   And a poorly-trained guard dog is always waiting for a chance to bite his handler.

   So he’d go off for walks, they’d come and bring him back, he’d get punished (usually zapped) and the cycle would start again. Demon slay, walk, recapture, punishment. Over and over again. Until they’d started letting him stay out longer and longer. Eventually he could stay out all night before they’d come and recapture him.

   That was when he realized the blood they’d given him was still drugged. He’d known it was drugged the first few times he took it, since it made him sleepy, but he’d thought that was all it did. He’d thought they were just trying to make him quiescent so they could play their games with him. No. They’d intended to get him addicted.

   And addicted he was. He  _needed it_. He knew what blood withdrawal was like, he’d gone hungry a few times in his life. That was a pain, a gnawing hunger, a roaring monster inside demanding its blood sacrifice and punishing the body for refusing to comply. These drug withdrawals were twisted cravings that had nothing to do with hunger. Animal blood or even donor bags of human blood did nothing for them. Blinding headaches would creep into his brain, twisting around the spot he thought held the chip, shooting through his demonic veins, and sapping all his strength. Sometimes he could barely lift his legs. He’d have hallucinations of desperation, babbling like Dru, begging her to come and save him, even though he knew she was long gone. He was a pathetic baby when the withdrawal hit, murmuring for rescue from Drusilla, Angelus, Buffy, hell, even bloody Finn.

   He’d tried to resist as long as he could a few times, and every time he was pathetically glad to see Finn and his retrieval team come to get him. He knew it was going to mean an end to the pain.

   After that he’d started coming back voluntarily, before the withdrawal hit. They’d give him his blood, tell him when and where the next mission was to be, offer him shelter from the sun if he needed it, and then let him go on his way. Finn had usually been the guy sent to recover him, so he was still his liaison, providing the drugged blood and the mission updates.

   It hadn’t taken long at all for them to fall into this pattern. They had trained Spike, and Spike had trained them. As of now he was free to come and go so long as he checked in every twenty-four to thirty-six hours, and didn’t raise a fuss when they wanted to do more experiments on him. To be fair, now that he was behaving as if the whole thing were voluntary, the experiments had stopped being overtly painful. Sometimes when Walsh tweaked the chip to perfect it he felt dizzy or disoriented, and he didn’t like it when they took pints of blood for whatever nefarious purpose they had for it, but for the most part it wasn’t too bad.

   Really. He kept telling himself that. It wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t like the torture games Angelus used to play, or the twisted longing of Drusilla’s emotional manipulations, or the Immortal’s Room of Pain, or even the nagging irritation of knowing the Slayer was still out there, shagging Angel,  _breathing_. All of those things were worse than working for the Initiative. They were. They had to be.

   He was perfectly bloody happy with his god damn current lot in life. “That all you need of me tonight?” Spike asked in irritation. “I have a hot date.”

   “With who?” Finn asked, suspicious.

   “A fellow name of Jack Daniels, heard of the bloke?” Spike snapped.

   “I don’t need him,” Walsh said over Spike’s head again.

   “Then let me go, Moreau.”

   Walsh glanced at him, looking at his face for the first time this evening. “For tonight,” she said. “Finn?”

   “Next mission isn’t for thirty-two hours. Come back before then.”

   “Right,” Spike said. He dragged down his sleeve and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

   “And 17?” Finn said warningly. “Don’t make me come fetch you again. I have better things to do with my time.”

   “What? Wanking take all your energy?” Spike asked. He shrugged on his coat. “I’ll come back for you, Finn. Mark my words.”

   Finn never seemed to read the inherent threats in those kinds of promises. Or at least, he never reacted to them.

   Spike slipped out the Initiative and headed back into town. He and Harmony had shared a cave for a while, and the dozy bint still had a stash of goods there, but she didn’t spend much time there herself, these days. Sure enough, she was off. Spike dug out some cigarettes he kept there, checked his look as well as he could without a mirror, and headed off to Cordelia’s.

   Sure enough, he could hear Harmony inside, giggling with her bestie. Spike strolled in without bothering to knock, breaking the chain on the door yet again. Cordelia looked up, startled, and Harmony looked annoyed.

   “Oh, god, it’s you again,” Cordelia said with contempt, twisting her scars into a frown.

   She had invited Spike in accidentally one time with a casual “Come on in” one night when she’d thought he was Xander. Spike had been using that invite ever since, and she hadn’t officially gotten it rescinded yet. Probably because she knew he was harmless as a bloody kitten. Harmony had spilled the beans about the chip. Spike’s status as a neutered puppy had become fairly common knowledge within certain circles.

   He didn’t know if the slayer knew about it yet. He was too frightened to face her to ask. But Harmony knew, so Cordy knew, which probably meant Xander knew. He could never bear to ask any of them about Buffy, and he tried to avoid Cordy’s place the times when Xander was there.

   “Why do you never knock?” Cordy asked.  

   “Why do you never shut me out?” he retorted. He knew the answer to why as surely as Cordy did. He was allowed access for the same reason Harmony was.

   Protection.

   Cordelia shrugged and looked back down at Harmony’s feet. They were doing each other’s toenails. Spike came up behind Harmony and forced himself in behind her on the couch, sticking one hand around her shoulder to casually cup her breast.

   “Ew, get off,” Harmony said, shrugging him away, but he didn’t listen, and she didn’t protest any further than that. Harmony was a bit of a prude when her human friend was about, playing lip service to human modesty, but in truth she didn’t really feel it. If there was one thing Harm was good at, it was playing up with what was expected of her. Cordelia expected her to still think mostly human, so she did.

   “What’s on the telly?” Spike asked. It was obvious that Cordelia was watching basketball. He picked up the remote and turned on Dawson’s Creek without asking to change it. He laid back and pretended that this was exactly where he wanted to be, watching sappy teen dramas on a comfy couch with a hot bird up against him, her nipple in his hand like a worry bead. He could almost pretend he was happy there.

   After Cordy’s initial protest of, “I was watching that,” she let it go. Spike usually showed up for Dawson’s Creek, and Cordy usually let him stay. Harmony liked Spike. And Cordy liked having Harmony around. So the two of them chattered over their nail polish, discussing boys and work. Harmony was having some problems at her job, as one of her clients had fallen in love with her and was asking to be turned.

   “You’re not going to do it, are you?” Cordelia asked.

   “And get even more vampires in on our territory? Hell no,” Harmony said.

   Harmony had taken up with a sucker gang while she and Spike had been in one of their off again phases, and Cordelia had made it clear she wasn’t going to be friends with a killer. Harm was trying to class them up a little bit, make them a little less like a bunch of druggies, but it was hard going. Spike had considered joining them to supplement his blood intake with something that wasn’t drugged, but the idea of selling his bite for money still made his insides clench up. Harmony could be a whore if she wanted. He was not going to lower himself that far, chip or no.  

   “Not to mention, like, the whole killing him bit?” Cordy asked.

   “Yeah. Oh, no, I totally wouldn’t do that!” Harmony said with false certainty. “You going to the Bronze tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.

   “Figured I might as well. Karl wanted me to take over at ten so he had time to boink his girlfriend tonight.”

   “Good,” Spike muttered. “Then I can finally boink mine.”

   “Not in my living room you can’t,” Cordy snapped.

   He ignored her. He and Harmony had shagged in Cordy’s living room more times than he could count.

   “Anyway, it’s not as if I’m doing anything else tonight,” Cordy said. “No hot dates for me.”

   “Unless you count Xander,” Harmony teased.

   “I never count Xander,” Cordy said with bitterness. “I keep telling you, he’s not my boyfriend. We just know how to screw each other.”

   “And he’s okay with the cryptkeeper look,” Harmony added, without any tact at all.

   Harmony didn’t seem to notice, but Spike saw Cordelia go pale beneath her scars. “Yeah,” she said shortly.

   It wasn’t really fair of Harmony to bring up Cordy’s facial scars, since they didn’t actually disfigure her much. A puncture bite scar on the neck, which scratched up the side of her cheek and across her upper lip, just grazing her nose. Cordelia had gone down to LA to try and become an actress, only to be the victim of a vampire attack. She’d managed to recognize what was happening and fight the vamp off, but he’d flailed as she maneuvered him around to the brandy she’d covered him with, and then lit on fire with the romantic candle. He’d then thrown her against the wall, breaking her shoulder blade and several ribs before he dusted.

   The facial scars had meant she was no longer fit for acting work, not even as an extra. The broken bones meant she needed help lifting things for months. Neither pretty nor invisible enough, she’d come back to Sunnydale in pain to get what support she could from her friends, which had boiled down to mostly Xander and eventually Harmony once Cordy had gotten past the whole she’s-a-vampire-now thing. Now Cordelia worked as a waitress at the Bronze, bringing people spicy chicken wings and goose piss beer.

   She was also bitter and afraid, a fact both Harmony and Spike used to their advantage. Cordy’s apartment was a safe haven from other vampires. In turn their frequent presence discouraged other demons who didn’t need an invite to invade. Cordy was safer, Harmony was safer, and by extension Spike had a place with a TV and a hot shower. Spike had three places he hunkered down when he was avoiding being at the Initiative, Cordy’s place, Harmony’s cave, and a crypt he kept trying to spruce up which had the advantage of tunnel access. Cordy’s place was by far the most comfortable.

   “Okay, my toes are dry. I’m going,” Cordy said. “Don’t let him steal my beer,” she added to Harmony.

   “Okay,” Harmony said. “I’ll guard it with my unlife.”

   As soon as Cordelia left, Harmony sat up. “You want a beer?”

   “Sure. She have any imports?”

   “Maybe,” Harm said. “She’s got good taste.” She went to inspect the fridge and came back with something German sounding. Spike mostly took it just to be annoying. He swigged at it, and then shoved Harmony down onto the couch.

   “Hey,” Harmony said. “A little foreplay never hurt anyone.”

   “Shut up,” Spike said. He unbuttoned her blouse and buried his face in her breasts.

   Harmony sighed. “Can we at least turn off the television?”

   “I said shut up,” Spike said, lifting one hand and holding it over her mouth. “Just let me – let me.” He cleared enough clothing for access and plunged into the act, trying to drown out every thought and regret in some kind of sensation.

   Harmony was a poor replacement for Drusilla. She was hot enough, but he didn’t love her, and often didn’t even like her very much. But she had a good body that fit his own well enough, and he could grunt away into her and not think about the Initiative or the chip or the tracker bee or the drugs. He could avoid thinking about the slayer and Angel and Drusilla and Walsh and Finn. He could pretend for a few brief, slippery moments that his life was something other than hell and that he didn’t hate everyone and everything, himself and his weaknesses top of the list.

   For a few brief moments, Harmony could make him forget how completely, perfectly miserable he really was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone doesn’t recognize the Arlo Guthrie paraphrase, it’s not hard to find. I used the word “perfected” instead of “selected."


	3. The Chosen One

  “Don’t go patrolling tonight,” Angel said.

   Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “And why the hell not?”

   “Um.” Doyle stepped back. “I’m sorry, I’ll just wait in the car.”

   Buffy looked over at him. “It’s fine, you can stay. We’re not fighting.”

   “It’s just, um. We have to get going quickly,” Doyle said. Buffy knew he didn’t like getting in the middle of what he called Angel and Buffy’s “domestics.” Unfortunately his coming usually prompted a lot of them, and he knew it.

   Buffy didn’t think much of Doyle. Personally she knew he was probably a really sweet guy. Professionally, he was the man who showed up, randomly ripped her husband away from her, on the pretense that he was the chosen one of the Powers That Be, and sent him into danger. She was starting to understand her mother’s early resentment of Giles. More than that, she wasn’t sure exactly what it was about Angel that had made him the supposed chosen one of the Powers That Be. Wasn’t  _she_  supposed to be the chosen one? Doyle’s answer as to why his visions were meant for Angel and not for anyone else were sketchy at best, contradictory at worst, and flat out infuriating whatever they were.

   “What is it this time?” Buffy asked. “Crocodiles in the sewers? Someone lose their bunny rabbit?”

   “Virgin sacrifices,” Doyle said pointedly. “I think. There’s a set of demon lawyers in LA who occasionally set up things like this. I’m not sure what the sacrifices are about, but the victims I saw aren’t more than fifteen.”

   Buffy stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

   “Buffy, you know why you can’t do that,” Angel said.

   She simmered. It was true. She was needed at the hellmouth. The few times she had left to help Angel on one of his missions she hadn’t really had much chance to do anything, and whenever she came back some warlock had tried to open the hellmouth again, or some demon gang was running rampant through the streets, or the commandos had blown up some warehouse, and she hadn’t been there to stop it. She was the slayer, and her mission was the hellmouth.

   “So why shouldn’t I patrol?” she demanded. “If I’m guarding the hellmouth, shouldn’t I do that?”

   “I just don’t like you going off on your own,” Angel said. “Look, just stay here, do your homework, and wait by the phone in case Giles or I call you, okay?”

   “Do my homework?” Buffy said.  

   “Like I said,” Doyle said. “I’ll, uh... start the car.” He slid out quickly, away from the simmering slayer.

   Angel came up to Buffy and put his arm around her. “Don’t be mad, my sweet. I just worry about you getting into trouble while I’m gone. You know how I love you.” He kissed her. “How can I do my duty when I’m worried you might be in danger?”

   Buffy leaned into him for another kiss, and let her teeth grip his lip. “And I’m not allowed to be worried?” she asked him when he broke it.

   “You can worry all you like,” he said. “I love it when you worry about me.” He kissed her again, breathing into it, pulling her against him, and then reluctantly pulled away. “Just say safe, my love. I’ll be back soon.”

   “Be careful,” Buffy said.

   He closed the door on her. A second later she heard Doyle’s car drive off into the night.

   “What am I supposed to do?” Buffy whispered. “Honestly, you’d think he expects me to wave a tiny white handkerchief at the doorway or something.” She stalked off to one of the weapons drawers and yanked out a couple of nicely shaped stakes. She shoved one in her jeans and spun the other in her hand.

   “ _Stay home, don’t go patrolling tonight,_ ” she mocked in Angel’s voice. “ _How can I do my duty when I’m worried about you?_ ” She slipped her coat on and stalked off into the night. “How the hell do you expect me to do  _mine_ , huh?

   “And  _your_ duty?” she added to herself. “What makes it somehow  _your_  duty? When did this happen? What the hell, Doyle, what was it that he did that made him the chosen one of your Powers That Be? He helped  _me_ , that’s what. Hello! Me! The person who is the  _actual_  Chosen One here.”

    She stumped her way into the garage and slid her way into Angel’s convertible. He didn’t like her driving it.

   “I’m the slayer. I’m not some god damn pretty maid in a stupid old ballad rotting on a beach for seven years waiting for some moron to come back from the wars.”

   She stomped on the accelerator, realized she’d forgotten to put the car in reverse after she banged into the workbench at the front of the garage, hit the brake, crammed the car into reverse, squealed out into the street, and shoved it back into gear.

   “Don’t go patrolling tonight. As if you can just up and tell me not to patrol, and I’ll just sit home like a good little girl and do my homework.”

   She squealed around a corner heading for town and a cemetery and hopefully, hopefully, a bunch of nasty demons to slay.

   “ _I’m_ the chosen one here, buster,” Buffy muttered. “ _I’m_  the vampire slayer. And you can’t just tell me what to do.”

   

***

   

   “You can’t tell me what to do,” Spike snapped at Finn. “I know how to fight a Samishal demon, and I’m telling you, stealth is the wrong way to go!”

   “What, so you expect us to just go in there, guns blazing?” Finn asked. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, 17. You’re just looking for a way to get us all killed.”

   “The slightest thought hadn’t even begun to speculate about the merest possibility of crossing my mind,” Spike said with dripping sarcasm.

   “I’m not a fool, 17.”

   “And I’m not a whipping boy,” Spike said. “You can’t send me in with a flawed strategy and then expect that bollocks to work! Samishal demons have hyper-acute senses. Scent and hearing lots better than mine. Even wasting our time with this damn argument the bugger probably already knows we’re here. The only way to catch the bloody thing alive is to hit it so fast it doesn’t have time to realize it’s under attack.”

   “Our briefing suggests that a lone attacker, operating through stealth, should be able to get close enough to hit it with a tracker dart.”

   “And who did the research for this briefing? Dr. Moreau? Has she ever caught one of the buggers before?”

   “Well... I don’t know. I would assume–”

   “So no, is the answer,” Spike snapped. “Well, I’ve managed to kill one before, Finnyboy, and I’m telling you the best way is speed. Not stealth.”

   “You kill this creature, and you’ll see what’s coming to you,” Finn retorted. “Walsh was perfectly clear we are supposed to capture it alive.”

   “Then you do it,” Spike muttered, already knowing what the response would be.

   “Maybe your chip is malfunctioning,” Finn said. “It’s supposed to induce compliance–”

   “Oh, leave off,” Spike said. He hated it whenever they tried to make the damn thing make him  _more compliant_. It hurt like a mother, and he always felt woozy and thick-headed for days before the demonic healing forced his brain more into something like himself again. At least he hoped it was healing him back to normal, and not that he was just getting used to the damn militants controlling his every movement. He didn’t want them controlling his every thought.

   So he’d just have to pretend his thoughts were being controlled. Bugger this. Not for the first time, he considered running. But the tracker explosive on his spine saw to that. “Fine,” Spike muttered. “I’ll sneak in and let the damn thing kill me, how’s that sound?”

   “Like it would save me the trouble,” Finn snapped. “You take that thing alive, or I will take  _great_  pleasure in recapturing you with extreme prejudice and informing Dr. Walsh that you’re in need of more perfection to your chip.”

   Spike growled and let his face vamp up. “Give me. The damned. Tracker.”

   Finn unholstered the tracker gun from his hip, and slipped the wire cable off his shoulder. “If you can capture it yourself, do it,” he said. “Otherwise get it tagged, and report back to me.”

   “And if your vaunted stealth plan fails?”

   “You’ll just have to see that it succeeds,” Finn retorted.

   “How?” Spike added. “Since the damn thing just popped up over there.”

   Finn looked, and started. Sure enough the chatting had alerted the Samishal demon, and it had opted to flee rather than fight. The greenish quadrupedal thing, like a reptilian pitbull on steroids, had just leapt up from a second exit to its lair, and was heading at an easy lope through the forest towards the cemetery.

   “Well, go on!” Finn yelled. “Get after it!” He turned to his walkie talkie and announced, “Base one, Lilac one. Samishal on the move. Subject 17 in pursuit. Mobilize secondary retrieval team for tracker dart 00916. Over.”

   “Copy that. Tracker dart 00916 still in proximity to subject 17. We’ll keep an eye on them both. Over.”

   “Copy that, Base one. Over. Well?” he added to Spike. “Get after it! Go on!”

   Spike had been trying like hell to make the tracker gun point at Finn’s head and failing as his chip kept twinging. He finally heaved a world weary sigh, hitched the cable over his shoulder, and took off after the Samishal.

   

   ***

 

   “Come on!” Buffy yelled into the nearest crypt. “Lonely little girl, all alone up here. Yummy yummy, all full up with blood!”

   Dead silence.

   “I’m feeling all helpless and alone guys!” she announced. “That’s it. It’s just me tonight. Right? Sure you don’t want a full belly? Nice and easy!”

   The crypt was empty, and if it linked to the sewers, the fish weren’t biting. She banged the door closed and went stumping back along the cemetery rows to the next frequently occupied crypt.

   Buffy had been opening crypts, shouting down manholes, and generally being as killworthy as possible to try and get the vampires to jump out at her already. She’d checked the alley outside the Bronze – kill-central as far as Sunnydale vamps went – the side door from the morgue – you could often snag a newborn or two there – and even wandered down the empty neighborhoods where the older vamps sometimes nested. Nothing. She was down to checking the cemetery crypts, which some of the vampires liked to occupy, when something finally did jump out at her. It wasn’t a vampire, but it was scaley, fangy, rancid smelling, and seemed to have claws.

   “Perfect,” Buffy growled. She spun her stake and made a leap for the demon beast’s back. She quickly found herself holding on to its back ridges like a bull rider as the thing tried to buck her off. She plunged her stake into its rib cage toward where its heart should have been, but either she missed, or its heart wasn’t exactly in the right place. The beast yowled, gave up trying to buck her off, and rolled.

   If she hadn’t been nimble enough to leap off the opposite side, that roll would have killed her. She ripped her spare stake out of her waistband and stood at the ready as the demon righted itself and turned to face her, snorting out its demonic nostrils with a smell like burning garbage.

   She hadn’t planned on killing a demon like this tonight. If she had, she’d have brought a sword rather than just a stake. But she was game. Her greatest weapon was herself, after all. She held her stake up ready to plunge it into the creature’s eye as it came for her.

   Only to feel a cool, hard body plunge into her, whirling her out of the way of the beast.

   “Ow!” it shouted.

   “What the hell?” Buffy wrestled her way out of the arms holding her. “Spike! What are you–?”

   Spike was grunting with a hand to his head, as if someone had clocked him in the temple or something. “The Samishal’s mine.”

   “Samiwhat?” Buffy asked.

   “The Sam– the demon!” Spike grunted, standing up properly. “I can’t let you kill it.”

   “What? What is he, one of your lackeys?” Buffy asked. “Is he part of your new little coven?”

   “What? No,” Spike scoffed. “I just can’t let you kill it, is all.”

   “Well, excuse me, but _you_  don’t get to say what I do,” Buffy snapped. “I hear enough of that from Angel and from Giles, and I don’t have to hear it from you!” She turned to track it. It had disappeared into the darkness. “Where did it go?”

   “Like I’m going to tell you,” Spike said. He picked up a strange looking gun from the ground and double checked it.

   Buffy snatched it out of his hand.

   “Hey!” Spike said, trying to get it back. Buffy expected him to hit her, but he just kept grabbing for the thing like it was some game of keep away with a toddler.

   “Unh, unh, unh!” Buffy taunted.

   “Will you give that back already?” Spike asked, his tone tempered into unconvincing politeness.

   “Why? What are you going to do with it, huh?” Buffy asked. She looked down the barrel. There was a glowing red light blinking on and off, like there was some kind of electric machinery inside.

   “None of your business,” Spike growled.

   “What is up with you these days, huh?” Buffy snapped, holding the gun behind her back and keeping her stake in her other hand. “You’ve been running with those commando guys, killing demons. Cordelia says you’ve sworn off killing humans.”

   “Yeah, something like that,” Spike said, reaching for the gun again. “Will you give me that back? I need that.”

   “For what? It’s a weapon? Will it make the beast do your bidding? What is it?”

   “It’s just a bloody tracer round, all right? Give it me so I can shoot the damn thing and–” He grabbed at her arm and swung her sideways, snatching at the gun. She twisted and punched at his thigh with the hand that held the stake. He twisted her arm up behind her in a half-nelson, spun her into the central headstone of a family plot. Buffy was winded by the blow, but Spike was the one who cried out as if he’d been hurt. “Oh, bloody hell,” he grunted. “Worth it.” As Buffy turned she saw him crouching into fighting stance.

   “Well, what you waiting for, slayer?” he asked. “Come at me!”

   “Oh, I’m gonna come, all right!” Buffy glowered and went for him.

   The fight was not satisfactory. Spike kept dodging and swinging far off center, too slow to ever do her any damage, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He kept maneuvering her around the grave stones and jumping out of the way just in time, so that she’d trip over her own feet or almost find herself punching marble.

   “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Stop pretending to hit me and hit me!”

   “What? That’s what you’d like, eh, slayer? Old Angelus not rough enough in the sheets, is he?”

   “Shut up!” Buffy barked and swung at him again. Spike jumped, his coat swirling, and kicked just over her head as she ducked. She had anticipated the move and dove at him. She expected him to finally take the initiative and  _hit her already_ , but he took a step back, and she made contact. He caught her knee with his own and she lost her balance, landing down on top of him as he fell.

   Something hard was digging into Buffy’s hip. At first she thought she’d landed on her spare stake, but then she realized she’d used hers for the Samiwhatsis and her spare stake was in her hand. And then she figured for a second that Spike must have been carrying a stake in his pocket. And then, like a bad joke, she realized what the hardness twitching beneath her actually was.

   “Oh, gross, Spike!” She clambered off him in a flurry of flustered revulsion, all the fight fallen out of her with the horrified realization. “What the hell!”

   “What?” Spike sat up, genuinely confused. “What’s up?”

   “Oh, god!”

   “What?”

   That hadn’t been a joke? “Have you got–? You’ve got a–! There’s a– You’re–! Ugh!”

   Spike blinked. “Sorry. Couldn’t follow that, love.”

   “Don’t call me love!” Buffy said, and gave him a roundhouse kick to the face. He went sprawling. “You are utterly disgusting, and I should stake you right here!”

   He dragged himself back into a sitting position. “For what? You’re the one who got in  _my_  way, pet.”

   “Don’t call me that either!” Buffy kicked him again, sending him sprawling the other way.

   Spike had had enough of this. He spun on his back, kicked his legs in the air, and used the momentum that gave him to spring up onto his feet. Then he jumped backwards on top of a gravestone and glared down at Buffy from the added four feet. “What the bloody hell are you on about, slayer? We were in the middle of a bloody good fight, I thought!” He scoffed. “What’s wrong with you?”

   “You have a – you’re – you know.”

   Spike looked totally lost.

   Buffy blushed. “You’re getting off on this.” She glanced down at the front of Spike’s jeans, which happened to be just at head height. There was still a telltale bulge against the denim. Buffy’s face heated further. She could feel her blush creeping right up into her ears. She quickly yanked her eyes up to his face.

   Spike’s lost look had gone from confused to flabbergasted. “And you’re not?”

   “No!” She was ashamed to realize that had come out in a squeak.

   Spike raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really. You don’t get off on this at all.”

   “I’m not a sick, sadistic vampire!” Buffy shouted up at him.

   “No, you’re a sweet, sadistic slayer,” Spike said. “Come on, love, you’re not so different from me. Don’t tell me you’ve never once gotten wet for a fight?”

   Buffy gagged. “Ugh. Go... away,” she grumbled, and turned her back on him, heading in the general direction of where she thought the Samishal had gone.

   Spike kept pace with her, jumping lightly from gravestone to gravestone as if his boots were anti-grav or something. It was a trick Buffy could pull off, too, but she wasn’t going to get into a pissing contest with a disgusting vampire with a violence kink over who was more agile in a cemetery. “Seriously? You’ve never once gone for a slay and then wanted nothing better than to get it on?”

   Buffy picked up her pace.

   “Or how about the other way ‘round?” He persisted. “Never wanted a quick roll in the sack and settled for a nice slay instead?”

   Buffy’s throat closed. The truth was that that happened on a depressingly regular basis. Angel couldn’t, which meant she wouldn’t, which meant she had to do something to get all that pent up anxiety out. And if she couldn’t do it with Angel’s.... If she couldn’t get her satisfaction from Angel she’d....

   _If Angel’s cock wasn’t up for grabs, a stake would just have to do._

   The thought came from those dark corners which she never allowed herself to look at properly. She didn’t like to admit to herself that she went slaying to cover up sexual frustrations. That every time Angel left her hungry and horny she’d take up a stake and go looking for something to slay. And that, yes, sometimes it did go both ways, and the slaying just made her want Angel even  _more_.

   “Well? Come on, slayer, admit it.” Spike reached the end of that row of gravestones and jumped down in front of her. “Admit you get off on it, too.”

   “Not like _that_ ,” Buffy snapped, and kneed him in the crotch. He’d been expecting it, and he jumped back. She’d only clipped him, but he grunted all the same.

   “Bad form, slayer,” he growled. “You know I’m not up to hitting back.”

   “I know nothing of the kind,” Buffy snapped. “You seem just as agile as ever.”

   Spike blinked. “You don’t know?”

   “Know what?”

   Spike considered her silently for a moment. “Nothing,” he said. Then his frown deepened. “So why haven’t you been trying to hunt me down, then?”

   Buffy opened her mouth, and then closed it again. There were reasons, the first being that Angel had never brought Spike up as any kind of serious threat. The other being that some part of her was keeping Spike in her periphery as... insurance. Spike and Angel hated each other. If Angel lost his soul again, and she needed back up... there was always Spike.

   But she didn’t dare say that.

   “Cordy says you and Harmony aren’t killing,” she said instead. “I believe her.”

   Spike regarded her again, then said, “Right. I’ll bite.” He vamped up and made a move which had Buffy swinging her stake as a frisson trickled up her spine, but all Spike had done was flick at her hair as he rushed past. She turned to face him, and he was gone.

   “Don’t kid yourself, pet,” his voice came from out of the darkness, somewhere up above her. She looked around, but all she saw was darkness. “I’ve not been up and tamed, no matter what any bugger says.” She turned toward where she thought his voice was coming from, but a second later it came from behind her. “I’m still your mortal enemy, slayer. And don’t you dare forget it.”

   Buffy whirled again. “You come down here and threaten me in the open!” she demanded.

   All that came back to her was an eerie whistle. The problem with eerie whistles is that they are notorious for being next to impossible to track, particularly when some vampire is whistling them in the dark around a bunch of echoey gravestones. It took Buffy a moment to realize he was whistling Pop Goes The Weasel in a minor key.

   _The monkey chased the weasel,_  her mind filled in.  _The monkey thought ‘twas all in fun._

   She tensed, awaiting the  _pop_ , expecting Spike to jump out at her.

   All that happened was silence. She kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And after a long moment she realized that the hair on the back of her neck wasn’t prickling anymore, and Spike, the bastard, had probably left.

   Probably.

   He’d unnerved her though, which was something he hadn’t done since... oh, way back around Career Day. He’d annoyed her, infuriated her, and occasionally bothered the hell out of her, but he hadn’t unnerved her in years. She shivered.

   Maybe Angel was right and she shouldn’t go patrolling alone.

   Besides. The fight with Spike had drained her of some of her fury. She took her stake more firmly in her hand and headed back toward Angel’s car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike quotes from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in here.


	4. Faking It

   “He  _killed it?_ ” Walsh was staring at Finn in incredulity, looking over Spike’s head again as if he didn’t exist.

   Spike stood seething in the briefing room, trying to come up with some legitimate excuse that would make sense. Trouble was, even the excuse,  _It was him or me,_  would only have Finn and Walsh wondering why the hell he didn’t just let it take him out.

   He’d followed the scent of the Samishal for miles. Buffy’s stake made it bleed heavily, and it was easy to track. He was surprised even Buffy hadn’t been able to follow the blood trail, but he had left her flustered – a fact he was pathetically proud of – and humans were somewhat noseblind. Slayers were a little better, but not by a lot. And it wasn’t as if she’d ever really bothered to learn to track. She went by her slayer senses for the most part, and of course for the most part they were perfectly adequate.

   Her strength wasn’t anything to sneeze at, either. Samishal demons had a tough outer armor. Buffy plunging a wooden stake through its ribs was a bit like driving it through solid steel. And he doubted Buffy had even noticed. Pretty bloody impressive.

   He kept going through the mock fight in his head over and over again. He hadn’t been able to land any actual blows, but just the sheer joy of going through the motions again with the slayer as his dance partner, that had been ecstasy. Wasn’t at all surprising he’d got a hard on, really.

   Spike had often got aroused during particularly intense fights. He’d read enough to know it wasn’t uncommon even among humans. Once blood started to rise, it did strange things, and soldiers in battle or boxers in the ring had written of similar reactions. It wasn’t entirely the same as a desire for sex, it was just an overall heightening going through his whole body. In fact, he was usually so focused on the fight he barely noticed what that part of his body was doing. Though the truth was, fights with slayers had always been particularly arousing. They were dangerous. They were terrifying.

   And slayers, whatever else they were, were hot. Spike was of the opinion that they could be huge and hulking with hatchet faces, and they’d still be hot. A powerful young woman with the ability to rip you from your immortal coil? Even the  _concept_ was hot. It was why he’d never run or hidden, why he sought them out, why he wanted nothing more in the world than to fight and kill a slayer. And Buffy.... The very first time he’d seen her his groin had swelled. Buffy was a paragon among slayers.

   Which was sort of annoying, because her abilities had killed his Samishal. When he’d finally caught up to the demon, it was already dying. He did what he had to do and shot it with the tracker gun, but it was too late. When the Initiative caught up with them the beast was dead, and Spike was starting to feel the tickle in the back of his throat that meant he was due for another dose of their drugged up blood. He could actually fight it for another twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours before the cravings and the semi-paralysis kicked in, but he hated getting to that point.

   They’d dragged Spike back to face the music. “What happened? The creature is dead. Did you kill it? How did it die?” Over and over and over. Spike had ignored them at first. “Dunno what happened. Found it like this.”

   Finn didn’t believe him. He was threatening him with the stun gun when Spike realized he couldn’t stick by his story. It was either give up the slayer, or take the blame for the beast’s death on himself.

   For thirty agonizing seconds he’d debated selling out the slayer. And in those thirty seconds, two possibilities played out in his head. One, they simply wouldn’t believe him, and he’d be right exactly where he was, so no gain there. Two. They did believe him.

   And then what would happen? The thought of the Initiative going after Buffy, hunting her down with their human technology, finding her in the mansion on Crawford Street with Angel. They’d probably kill Angel, or at best chip him up like Spike had been. (Buffy, hopeless and grieving as she had been when Angel’d lost his soul, a pale shadow of the great slayer she had been.)

   And what would they do with Buffy? Enlist her? Maybe. More likely they’d study her, like they studied the werewolves and the vampires and the other human-like demons they’d dragged in to this compound. Vivisection and challenges and drugs. He hadn’t put a target on Harmony’s back, because she was useful to him as a bed mate. The tiniest taste of not-wretchedness he had. Did he want to put a target on Buffy?

   The thrill of that mock fight, the tingle in his stomach when he made her frightened, the scent of her hair breathed in against his fanged mouth as he’d clipped her gently going past. Even the pain in his head as he’d winded her, the couple of moments he’d dared to actually try to hurt her. Those were... joy. It wasn’t just not-wretched, Buffy had given him brief moments of actual wicked joy that night.

   “I did it,” he’d said. “I killed the thing. It was too strong. Was just trying to wound it, but you know how it goes, Finn. Sometimes things don’t go as planned.”

   It was not a pretty picture. First he’d been reamed out, and now Finn had called in Walsh. “He actually killed it? He disobeyed orders that much?”

   “Yeah, well, I’m a bloody vampire, Ms. Moreau!” Spike snapped, standing up out of his chair. “What did you expect of me? I’m a god damned killer, that’s what I do. I’m not a pet, I’m not an operative, I’m a killer!” He advanced on her. “And I’ll thank you to look at me when you’re talking, thanks ever so.”

   Walsh did not step back. She knew he couldn’t hurt her. “If you can’t follow orders, you’re of no use to this operation. I can have you terminated any time I choose.”

   “I wasn’t trying to kill the bloody thing!” Spike said. What could he say to keep them from turning him to dust? “It’s this god awful chip,” he said. “It– it makes it hard to think. Hard to strategize, I….” What could he say? They were staring at him expectantly. “I was cornered, right?” he said. “I tried to get the tracer dart in, but it lashed out at me, knocked the gun from my hands.

    “So,” he said, diving in. “There I was. Beast was before me, thick brush behind and around me, highway to the left of me. And there. There was humans there.” There.  _There_  was a legitimate excuse. “Helpless, innocent human beings! I couldn’t let a monster like that just jump into traffic, yeah? That would have killed the bugger, and-- and some poor innocent motorists just trying to get home to supper. We couldn’t have that!” He expressively gestured at the invisible motorists, with sympathy on his face.

   Were they buying this? It actually looked like they might be. “I knew my duty,” he went on. “My primary mission, to protect human life. So when the Samishal went to the left, I stalled it. I took hold of its leg. It kicked at me, but I had nowhere to go. I flung myself up onto the back of it!” He acted out the motion, leaping onto a chair.

   “There we were, locked in battle, a beast of desperate strength beneath me, innocents before me. I wrenched the creature’s head around by its ears.” He expertly twisted his arms to mimic the action. “It snapped at me with its fangs, but I kept my cool. Human lives were at stake. I kicked my heels, driving the creature into the undergrowth, but it bucked me off.” He went to his knees. “I was weakened, winded, I couldn’t think! All I knew was my duty! I grabbed the only weapon I could find to hand!” He scrabbled into the invisible undergrowth for an imaginary stake. “And as the Samishal leapt over me to cross that highway, endangering the innocent, oblivious motorists, I plunged my makeshift stake into its side, hoping to make it turn back on me!”

   He punched the air over and over, his face a perfect mask of desperation.

   “And then it was over.” Spike sagged melodramatically. “The creature fell before me. And I knew that I had failed. My heart was in tatters, but I took solace in knowing that though I had failed in one mission, I had succeeded in the most important one. I had protected the people!” Tears were welling in his eyes. He covered his face with the back of his hand, on his knees, trembling with emotion.

   “If you have to punish me for that... I’ll take it.” He glared up at Finn and Walsh without a hint of disingenuousness. “I’m not sorry.”

   There was a long moment of silence. Then Walsh turned to Finn. “I think I should turn down the sensitivity on his chip.”

   “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

   “It’s making him far too emotional, whatever else it’s doing. When has he last eaten?”

   “Day and a half ago.”

   “Put him in the cells for a day, make sure he doesn’t get outside food. We’ll perform the surgery tomorrow morning.”

   “What?” Spike was startled. “What about my blood?”

   “Can’t operate on you if you’ve eaten,” Walsh said, and Spike realized he had won a little. She was addressing him personally.

   “But by then I’ll be–”

   “Prepped and ready for surgery,” Walsh said.

   Suffering withdrawal. “Can’t you just do a one of your remote wire button things?” They were annoying, but didn’t involve chopping his head open.

   “No. This requires readjustment of the actual hardware. Don’t worry, you won’t be awake for it.”

   “I don’t want more of your damn–”

   “Riley?”

   Riley pulled out his stun gun.

   “No, don’t!” Spike said, staring Finn down. Damn stun guns. Those things hurt. He wanted to grab the thing out of the musclebound wanker’s hand. He wanted to rip his sodding esophagus out and beat him to death with the tonsil end. He wanted to see the bastard as a blooded corpse.

   The two men stared at each other, and finally Spike’s head turned away submissively. A day of withdrawal and a surgery, and then they’d let him go again. He could cope with that. Right? Besides. He had absolutely no choice.

   He wished he could dare cry.

   “Fine,” he muttered.

   “Show him to a cell,” Walsh said. “I’ll make sure procedure room three is prepped for the morning.”

 

***

 

   “Welcome back,” Buffy said.

   Angel had been gone for three and a half days. In actuality Buffy wanted to be pissed off at him for never calling and letting her know that he was even still alive, but she was also really horny, and Angel never wanted to play when he was annoyed with her. The best thing to do was act romantic and accepting, and not let him know how angry she was.

   Some part of her wished they could have a knock down drag out fight and then roll all over each other with some make up sex, but neither of those fit into her relationship with Angel at all. Fights were always tense and dramatic, usually with low voices and a lot of sobbing. Making up involved a slow fade and a lot of alone time, with Angel brooding and Buffy stewing in her own juices and patrolling a lot. Slowly they’d come back together, be tense and awkward for a couple of days, and then finally basically forget about the fight and go back to where they had been. And sex just wasn’t part of the equation at all.

   Better to just avoid the argument in the first place and see what she could do to seduce Angel into playing with her.

   Angel was glad to see her. He enfolded her into his arms with a world-weary sigh, happy to get back to his home, and her. “Hello, darlin’.”

   “I thought we might go out tonight,” Buffy said.

   Angel’s glance flickered toward the door of his own bedroom, where he had TV and hockey magazines and deep chairs for brooding in, and then looked back at her. “The Bronze?”

   “Maaaay-be,” she hinted. “Would you help me pick out an outfit?”

   Angel sagged. “Oh.”

   “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun.” Buffy pulled at his hands and led him over to her own bedroom. She had the whole thing laid out, ready for him. Outfits, wine glasses, easy listening on in the background. (She couldn’t quite jump on board the Barry Manilow train, but she’d found some compromise tracks she could stomach.)

   “Buffy,” Angel said. “This was a hard mission. I’m sort of... um. Tired.”

   “All the better for this to relax you, then,” she said, setting him onto the bed. He sighed as he sat back, and Buffy poured him some wine. “I’ve got some blood upstairs, if you’d rather–”

   “Wine’s fine,” he said. “All right, show me the first outfit.”

   Buffy choked back her disappointment. This used to work. Angel would watch her change, get all hot and bothered, and then he’d pull her into his arms and smother her with kisses. But all he seemed right now was bored.

   She went through the motions anyway. She showed off her silk shirt and skirt combo, went to the side of the room, coquettishly turning away as she changed, revealing parts of her body, her back, her buttocks, some side boob. Then she’d turn around and perform her fashion show.

   “See?” she said, standing closer in the light. “I think this might make for a light but sophisticated pairing, that shows I’m serious but ready for some fun.”

   “It’s great,” Angel said.

   “But then there’s this one,” she said, going to a darker outfit, with a black spaghetti strap dress. “See, this is darker, a little more dangerous. Let me show it to you on.”

   She went through five different outfits, revealing a little more of her body each time she changed. She was getting nowhere. Angel’s eyes hadn’t dilated at all, he leaned against the headboard looking bored and making stock responses to her questions about each outfit. “That’s great. It’s really pretty. You look nice.”

   The full frontal reveal for the last outfit had done zip. Finally Buffy went full throttle. She turned around and changed into the pink teddy with the bow on her breasts, ready to be untied and reveal the goods. She’d taken to spending a lot of her tiny income on lingerie she couldn’t afford — she’d even written to her dad for some extra funds in desperation — but it was getting harder and harder to gain Angel’s physical affection.

   She turned around and posed dramatically. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think this might be a little revealing for the Bronze.”

   “That looks great, Buffy,” Angel said. “Best one yet.”

   “Angel?” Buffy said, sure he hadn’t been paying the least attention. She grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on the trailing end of the bow. “Too revealing for the Bronze?”

   Angel blinked, seemed to properly notice the outfit, and looked startled. “Buffy! You’re not thinking of wearing that in public, are you?”

   Buffy sighed in annoyance and untied the bow herself. “Obviously not,” she said, trying really hard not to sound too annoyed. Her breasts were revealed in all their pink and perky glory.  

   “Oh.”

   “Angel.” He just stared at her, not reaching for them at all. She kept herself from just demanding affection. Angel liked to be the one on the seducing end, she knew that. The best thing was to make him think it was his idea, or he’d just put her away like an erring puppy. “Is something wrong?” she asked instead.

   “No, it was just a really hard mission, is all.”

   Buffy sat down beside him. “You want to tell me about it?”

   “Wolfram and Hart managed to convince these girls that they wanted to be part of this club. It was so easy, they just looked for girls who were on their own and made them feel wanted.”

   He went on about the mission while Buffy crept behind him and rubbed at his shoulders. She didn’t know if vampires got tension in their shoulders the way that humans did. Angel had never told her either way. He usually seemed to like the contact, though. She eventually lifted his shirt up and over his head as she kept working on his cool flesh, occasionally rubbing her breasts along his back. Her nipples hardened, and she wished to god he’d just turn around and start suckling on them.

   “Convincing them otherwise was harder,” he finally said. “It wasn’t until one of them was actually fed to the gootinag that they finally, finally listened. Why can’t you ever get girls to believe you when you tell them something is dangerous for them?” he asked, turning around to Buffy.

   “I’m not really the one to ask,” she said, trying not to make it too pointed.

   Angel’s face softened. “Poor Buffy. And I’m just thinking about myself.” He reached out and finally touched her breast. Buffy arched into the touch, throwing her head back and increasing her breathing. He liked that. It usually induced him to touch more.

   He did, sliding his hand up her breast and along her throat to hold her cheek. “I love you,” he murmured.

   “So kiss me,” she breathed. She managed not to make it a bark of an order, but she was tense and trembling with impatience.

   He did, finally, and Buffy fought the impulse to throw him backwards and just straddle him like some whore. She lay backwards on the bed and tangled her legs with his, pulling him with her. He kissed her, his hand on her breast, and she moaned and gasped, grinding up against his hip. Once or twice she’d even gotten off like that, the smooth pleasure sliding through her groin, but Angel wasn’t buying that today. He sat up. “Eh, Buffy.”

   “Don’t,” she begged. “Please, don’t pull away.”

   “Buffy, this isn’t fair.”

   “No, please,” she whimpered.

   “God!” He got to his feet and glared. “Come on, Buffy, what do you want me to do?”

   “I want... I  _want!_ ” She tried not to cry. “I want you to touch me!” she insisted. “I want you to kiss me and hold me! Why won’t you? What have I done wrong?”

   “It’s not anything wrong, it’s just.... Buffy, this isn’t fair to me,” he snapped. All desire was out of his face now. “You promised, when we started this, when we got married, you said that it was okay that we couldn’t. Was that a lie?”

   “It _was_  okay that we couldn’t!” Buffy said, jumping up to face him. “But that was when you still did what we  _could!_  We would sleep together, and hold each other, and kiss and make out, don’t you remember that? What’s wrong with me that you won’t do that anymore?”

   “Because we can never finish it, Buffy! It’s not fair to make me feel that and then—” He sighed. “What if I can’t stop, what do you think happens then?”

   Buffy didn’t say she’d finally get what she wanted for once. “We can keep our clothes on,” she said.

   “Buffy!”

   “What? We used to do it.”

   “Buffy, you already don’t have your clothes on.”

   She looked down at her pastel pink teddy with the lace and trailing bowstrings. “I can tie it back up.”

   “Buffy.”

   “Please,” she said, reaching for his hard bare chest. “Please, I just want to be close to you. To feel you. To be with you. We don’t have to have sex, not  _sex_  sex, just... we used to play.” She snuggled up to him and rubbed her cheek against his pectorals. “Don’t you want to play with me?”

   “I do, Buffy, that’s the whole problem. We can love each other, but you know we can’t do this. I want to lose my soul in you, but I just can’t!”

   “But why does that mean _I_ can’t?”  

   He sounded tormented. Buffy sounded desperate. And she already knew what was going to happen now.

   Angel put his hands on her shoulders and put her away from him, sliding down her arms and folding her hands like a little girl. “We have to be strong, Buffy. I know how hard it is. But we have to be strong. This is our destiny. This....” He took a step away from her and gazed at her with love in his deep brown eyes. “This is as close as we can ever be.”

   Buffy sighed, and she knew she was welling into tears.

   “I– I’m going to go take a walk,” he said. He left her room without even retrieving his shirt from her bed.

   Buffy crumpled into tears. He couldn’t bear seeing her cry, that was why he always left when she got to this point. “Oh,  _god!_ ” she screamed at the ceiling, but the concrete structure of the Crawford Street mansion did not absorb the sound. All it did was throw it back at her, a receding echo of her own frustration, traveling off into the distance. She hoped Angel heard it.

   No, she didn’t. It was wrong of her to push him like this. Why couldn’t she control herself? She was too damned emotional, that was all.

   She dropped down on the bed and buried her face in Angel’s shirt, breathing in the scent of it. She found herself rolling over it on the bed, her body arching into the sheets as if it was his own body. She reached down. Her fingers were woefully inadequate for what she wanted, but she finally found the nub and pressed on it enough to start to feel something.

   It wasn’t enough. It just made her miserable. When she finally stopped, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment as much as pleasure, she wanted Angel there to hold her and caress her and be there with her for the afterglow, but that never happened anymore. She just cried into her pillow and let the misery wash through her.

   Finally she forced herself up. Weeping in her pillow over Angel, again, was getting her nowhere. She was going to patrol. She shoved her body into a sweatshirt and pants, not even caring about the trails of silk dangling from under her shirt, and took up a stake to go out patrolling.

   It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

 


	5. A Change Has Come

   “It’s not fair,” Spike muttered. “It’s just not fair.”

   He’d been stuck in the Initiative's cell for two days while his body recovered enough to stand. Dizziness accompanied his walking for a further twenty-four hours, and even when he did recover enough to feel somewhat normal, it had been broad day, and he’d been stuck for a further ten hours waiting for the sun to set.

   Now it was finally night, he was finally free again, and Harmony was all shirty because Spike hadn’t told her he was going to be gone this long. “I didn’t  _know_  I was going to be gone this long, my little creme brulee.”

   “I don’t care. I’m going to LA with the girls. There are more blood junkies down there, and there’ll be fresh meat.”

   And then all the sucker girls showed up in some beat-up van, dressed as whores and thin as rails. Spike didn’t know why they didn’t just go ahead and kill someone if being a sucker made you look like a starving heroin addict. He understood the temptation to go sucker. Not having the slayer after you made for a tempting draw. But why didn’t they supplement their human blood with pig or something, like Angel did?

   Harmony said it was a point of pride for them, to not kill, and also not  _need_  animal blood, but it didn’t look worth it to Spike.

   “Come on, Harm, baby, just stay for another hour. Your mates could stay too if they want a little–”

   “Ew! I told you, no threesomes unless it’s boy, boy, girl. And no fivesomes at all! You hear me girls? This is  _my_ man! You can’t have him.”

   “Don’t bloody want ‘em,” Spike said, glaring at the pale suckers. “If I wanted to shag a bag of coathangers, I could find prettier ones.” The sucker girls did not look pleased.

   He ignored them and slid his hand around Harmony’s waist. “Just want to ease out some tension, babydoll. You know, that’s a lovely top you’re wearing.” She simpered, and he plucked at it. “Can’t I take it off?”

   “No!” Harmony pushed him away, smiling, but she meant it. “The girls and I made this plan two days ago, when you were off gallivanting with your boyfriends.”

   “Um. Finn and them are not my friends—”

   “And I’m not changing my plans now!”

   “Look, just hang out for an hour or so, and your mates can come back, yeah?”

   “No,” Harmony said. “I’m going.  _We’re_  going.” She tossed her head. “And maybe we won’t come back.”

   She’d come back. She liked tormenting Cordelia. Spike’s face darkened. “To hell with you, then.” He shoved her away from him. “Go on with you. Don’t come back. It’s not as if I’d bloody miss you!”

   “Well, I won’t miss you, either!”

   “Good! Go to LA. Take your time. Go get yourself a nice suntan while you’re at it!”

   “Oh, go take a long walk off a short pier, Spike!” Harmony said. She made the Loser gesture at him with a L on her forehead, and Spike rolled his eyes. She was so juvenile.

   “Bitch!” he yelled after her pert little ass as it flounced out of the cave.

   She’d be back. And he’d be glad to see her back. Because what else did he have except this? This terrible woman he could barely stand who sometimes, rarely, gave him enough of a distraction that he stopped thinking about whether or not he should just let himself dust.

   He mooched about alone in her cave for a bit, but her pink satin and unicorns did nothing to improve his mood. He knocked over a bunch of her stuff to be an ass, and then decided to see how far he could go intimidating civilians down by the Bronze. Maybe he could scare enough out of some human or other to get himself a beer. It would be nice if he could actually hurt one or two of them. Not a lot, he knew the chip still worked, but the sensitivity on it had in fact been turned down a hair.

   They’d tested it. They’d handed him a gun, telling him it was unloaded, and he was actually able to point it at Finn and pull the trigger. When they told him it might or might not be loaded, he couldn’t even put his finger on the trigger without bolts of pain shooting through his head. It wasn’t freedom, but it was better than it had been. Before the reset, even a water pistol would give him migraines. Then they’d done some hand to hand, and he was able to block blows hard enough to bruise, though he couldn’t land any directly himself. That was better, too. Wasn’t worth the pain and the wooziness and the day of withdrawal, but he was a little less vulnerable than he had been. It was a relief. He didn’t like feeling naked, and the chip was like being completely defanged. It was horrible.

   At least he had teeth again now, even if they were only useless humanlike ones. That had to be an improvement, right?

   He headed toward the Bronze, stepping a block or two out of his way to pass through a cemetery. He told himself he wasn’t looking for Buffy to test out his new, less sensitive chip on the Slayer, where it should be tested. At least he told himself that until he caught her scent, and then followed in a beeline, like a hound on the hunt. Because bloody hell, she was out here and so was he, and if he could get even one good blow in at the slayer, it would make all the pain worth it.

   Buffy was stumping through the cemetery, stake in her hand, her hair frumpy, but her eyes brightly made up. She had on baggy sweats, with some weird little bits of satin dangling down around her hips. The satin was pink, and reminded Spike of Harmony. “Nice outfit, goldilocks,” he taunted. “Looking for baby bear’s bed?”

   The slayer turned to face him, and Spike took a step back. Her eyes were red with tears, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if they had burned his skin like lasers, she was so furious.

   And so it didn’t surprise him in the least when she didn’t bother with the witty banter or the scornful teasing. She just jumped him.

 

***

   “You!” Buffy said as she pounced. Or it might just have been a frustrated growl. It didn’t matter. She was looking for a slay, and here was an excellent one, right in front of her!

   She recognized Spike. She knew he wasn’t acting the threat these days. That didn’t matter to her right then. She hadn’t been looking specifically for Spike when she went out hunting, but all shades of grey or nuances of evil didn’t matter to her right then. Spike was a killer, she was a slayer, and even if he’d chosen not to kill for reasons of his own, she was so going to stab him through the heart, penetrate his flesh, feel the warm tickle of dust as it blew over her face, hear him scream with his last passing undead breath. She was going to dust him!

   Spike jumped backwards out of the way, blocking her blow with his leather clad arms. “Whoa!”

   Blow, blow, blow, block, block, block. One, two, three, four, five, she had him entirely on the defensive. He backed up, and up, and up, until she lost patience with it, side-stepped onto a gravestone, and used the momentum to flip herself around him. He turned.

   “Bloody hell, slayer!” He blocked another blow, absorbed the next, and ducked a third one. “What’s got you all hot and bothered?”

   “Shut  _up!_ ” she snapped. “Stop fighting me and let me kill you!”

   “Okay, that’s supposed to be my line.”

   She didn’t throw back a witty riposte. She just threw a roundhouse kick, which he failed to duck in time.

   He went sideways, smacked himself against a gravestone, and groaned. She was on him in a second, her stake going right toward his heart. She’d even penetrated his flesh a bit before his arm went up strong enough to block the blow. They were wrestling, strength against strength, and she could see terror in his blue eyes.

   Blue. She usually only fought Spike when he was vamped up and hunting. It made her feel strange, fighting something so human. The fight the other night wasn’t real. They were basically playing, and they both knew it. This one, she was actually trying to dust him.

   She could see him struggling, and then something broke in him. His other hand fisted up, he pulled it back, and smacked her right in the face.

   She was thrown back, and he hesitated, as if waiting for something, for her to retaliate, for a bolt of lightning to strike him, something. Then his eyes went wide and he yelped. “Bloody  _brilliant_!” He jumped up into a standing position with a look of such fierce joy on his face it startled her. “The slayer.  _The Slayer!_  Too strong, too destined, too something! Take that you self-righteous wankers, take  _that!_ ” He picked Buffy up as if she were Drusilla or something, spun her around in a joyous circle of delight, and then punched her full in the face.  

   “Do it then,” he said, his face darkening into fangs. “Fight me, slayer.”

   Something changed then. It was as if they hadn’t been fighting before. Spike stopped retreating and went on the offensive, matching blow for blow, taking them without trying to block, returning them without pulling his punches.

   It was intense. They hadn’t fought each other straight since they first knew each other. Once he’d lost to her in the church he’d always been on his guard. They fought alongside each other, but they hadn’t fought each other much. Even when he had the Ring of Amara, Buffy had felt she was fighting the Ring, more than Spike. She’d known if she could just get it off him that she’d win. And for his part, he’d been invulnerable, so he’d been holding back, and she’d known it. He hadn’t wanted that fight over too quickly.

   Now suddenly the fight was real, heated, powerful, and Buffy was still furious. Every blow was at fate for trapping her in an impossible love, at the Powers for taking Angel away from her, at Angel for not fighting for her! She knew it was impossible, but it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t  _fair!_

   But Spike was now full of such joy. He kept punching her in the face, grabbing her and throwing her over his back, tossing her around as if they were swing dancers from the forties, but all the while keeping his heart away from that stake. He was having too much fun, damn him! Buffy just kept getting angrier and angrier.

   Damn Spike. Damn his laughter. Damn Angel. Damn his goodness. Damn fate. Damn the Powers. Damn fucking sex drive!

   And then the thought occurred to her,  _He’s probably got a hard on right now._

   She danced through a few more blows before she dared glance down to confirm. Yep. There it was. Clear as day against his black jeans. She yanked her eyes back to his face, just in time to receive a blow right between the eyes. It knocked her silly and –

   The stake was gone from her hand.

   She didn’t mean to let go of it. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but it wasn’t there. She doubled her fist and hit him with it instead, but she was almost scared now. She had no weapon. Trees. There were trees and bushes, right? She had to find a weapon, she had to find something she could stake him with and...

    _He’s got a hard on._

   Stupid thought to keep having. But it wouldn’t leave her mind. She would hit him, glance around for a bunch of flowers, a planted bush, the nearest tree, anything that would have something wooden she could use for a stake, dodge away from another blow, and then the thought would resurface,  _He’s got a hard on._

   _He’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on, he’s going to kill me if I can’t find something, he’s got a hard on, come on, slayer, keep it together, he’s got a hard on, fuck this, you’re not going to die, he’s got a hard on, that was a good hit, I can take him down, he’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on…._

_He’s got my hair!_

   He had a firm grip on her blonde mane, and he yanked her head back. Then his fangs were in her throat, biting down hard, and she screamed. It wasn’t like the Master, it wasn’t like Angel. With the Master it had been a slow seduction of mesmerization she could barely remember. With Angel it had been a desperate demand as she’d all but forced him. This was neither of those. Spike had his teeth in her throat, was biting hard, and it was  _war._

   She twisted out of his bite, flipping sideways, and they were both startled to find themselves brought up short by the wall of a mausoleum. Buffy pushed him away, and Spike was trying to reach for her bleeding throat again. His hand gripped her wrist strong enough to bruise. His other arm held her tight around her hip so she couldn’t get away. She reached down to shove herself away from him, and found her own hand against

  _He’s got a hard on._

   There was no sudden moment of realization. At first they were still simply fighting, her bleeding, him gripping, their left arms locked in struggle, but Buffy’s right hand had found his cock, and was exploring it almost of its own volition. Long, thick, hard, like a stake, like a spike, like he had his own built in weapon, and she had it in her grip.

   His yellow eyes locked on to hers, and his arm moved hers down steadily so the wrestling was down by their sides now. He wouldn’t let go her hip, actually his hand had moved to the small of her back now, she could feel it sliding on the silkiness of her teddy under her sweats, his finger just touching the dent of her buttocks, and he had a hard on, and it was in her hand.

   She slid up and down it, exploring the tip with her fingers through the denim. A nub on the top, like her own inside her cleft, and her fingers were on a zipper, and the zipper came down, and his cool vampire cock was in her hand, trembling, a bead of moisture on the tip that her thumb found and slid down the cleft on the front, and Spike’s eyes closed and opened again sky blue and confused.

   The hand left her wrist and reached down her sweats, sliding around the front of her to touch at her — her stuff. His middle finger found her cleft and slipped in at the top of it, pressing on her own little nub, the silky fabric tightening around her folds. Her right hand came up and grabbed at his arm, squeezing him as her eyes closed. How dare this feel good? This was a fight, she was fighting him, she hated him, and

    _He’s got a hard on._

   She rubbed at it more, dragging on it, pushing it against her belly, and he stared at her with his fingers on her cleft. He slid down further, further, further, and seemed startled when he encountered the little hooks that closed the teddy around her nethers. But he seemed particularly practiced. It was the work of a moment for those hooks to be undone, or ripped out, and suddenly his cool fingers were sliding around inside her folds. Her wet, swollen, angry folds.

   _He’s got a hard on. He’s got a hard on._

   The teddy was sliding up around her waist, and Spike’s fingers on her back were inching it up. It slid up her buttocks, and his hand slid down her ass, and  _He’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on._

   Her sweats were stretched down, and he stepped in further, and she found her fingers sliding his cock down, tilting it closer, aiming it right for her own slit, because fuck it, he had a hard on, and it felt so good against her, and his hands felt so good on her, and it was pressing against her clit, and deeper inside her folds, and then  _he’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on, he’s got a hard on inside me, inside me, inside me._

   She moaned and her head went back, her fingers falling away. Spike’s arms went around her, both of them, holding her against him. His mouth went for her throat again, breathing down her neck, and she hissed through her nose, tensing. “Don’t,” she barked.

   “No more fangs,” he promised, his eyes desperate.

   Don’t. She didn’t want to have to stop what was happening, but she couldn’t let it kill her, either. “No more fangs. Swear it.”

   “Swear,” he breathed. He pulsed inside her. “Slayer.”

   The way he said that word, that title, the awe and the worship in it, the lust and the hunger. She stared at his blue eyes for another tense breath, and then groaned as her head went back, all caution to the winds as she jerked around him, and his mouth was on her throat, lapping up the blood that had spilled when she shook off his bite.     

    _He’s inside me, he’s inside me, he’s got a hard on inside me._

   Her knees felt weak, and he was trembling trying to hold her up. They went to their knees in a mutual moment, the slightest sag from one of them their only signal, and then Buffy fell to her back like Angel always liked her to do, but pulled Spike with her, atop her. He abandoned her throat and looked down on her, blood painting his jaw and his lips. He pulsed inside her, filling and filling her, his body bearing down on her, his eyes boring holes right through her as he stared. She had to close her eyes. She couldn’t bear his gaze, his face, she was in hell, right? She was fucking an evil vampire, and it felt so damn good she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t stop, he was inside her, inside her. “Inside me,” she whispered. “Inside me, inside me, a hard on inside me, inside me.” It felt so good, so fucking good, she hated herself for not being able to stop this.

   “I want... I want....” She panted up in him.

   “You want me?” Spike whispered down at her.

   “No. Do it!” she moaned up. “Do it!” She wriggled beneath him to pull her sweats down further. The damn things were acting like hobbles. Spike reached down and helped her, finally using his legs once it got low enough, his punk boots shoving the sweats down around her ankles where she could finally kick one leg off and wrap her legs around his, pulling him closer and deeper. “Fuck. Do it. Inside me, do it!”

   She wasn’t going to stop this. What if he stopped? What if  _it_  stopped? She’d go crazy if it was taken away from her  _now, now_ when she finally had this, this feeling of him inside her, someone inside her, Spike not Angel inside her, a vampire inside her, him inside her, inside her, Spike, Spike, “Spike!”

   “Buffy,” he whispered back, and thrust into her roughly, powerfully. His hand found hers and it was as if they were wrestling again, but now they were wrestling in unison, pulse, pulse, pulse, thrust, thrust, thrust, again and again and again, inside her, inside her, inside, inside, oh god, inside!

   The orgasm came, and she rode it into the pleasure as her cheeks flushed, and then she tried to push him off. She was done, she was– “No,” Spike said, and he sat up, taking hold of her hips.

   “I–”

   “No!” He thrust harder, and Buffy supposed she had better let him get off, it was only fair, right? But he kept thrusting, and it definitely hit the point where she always stopped, because that felt good, right? Except it kept feeling good. Then felt scary good. Then felt just scary. She hadn’t ever felt anything like this. Not when Angel had made love to her, and not even when she touched herself. She always started to feel good, reached a point where her blood pulsed, and then she stopped. It occurred to her as she stared up at him in something akin to terror that maybe she’d been stopping too soon.

   The good feeling just kept on and on and then started to block out all other feelings, and then she couldn’t control her body at all, just kept pushing up, more, more, she wanted more, how could there be more? Her mouth was an O of bewildered terror of good feeling as she tried to keep from screaming, and then a point came where she couldn’t stop the screaming, and it came out of her, and Spike grunted and dove for her throat again, sucking on the bite mark, yelling into her flesh.

   And the slayer screamed and screamed and screamed in the cemetery as the vampire penetrated her and drank of her blood.

   She lay in the darkness, staring up at the stars, as still as death with the vampire still on top of her, her legs wrapped around his, his body softer now, and still as death itself. She wondered briefly if she was dying. If she’d let him take enough of her blood that she would never get up from this graveyard, and someone would find her in the morning, her pants off, violated, bitten, blooded, dead. And there’d she be, just one more dead slayer to add to the ranks, and someone new would have to come to Sunnydale, or maybe there’d just be no more slayers, and Angel would have to look after the hellmouth all by himself, and the Powers That Be would just have to deal.

   But it occurred to her after lying for long moments in that petite mort thing she’d read about in her mother’s romances that she was thinking an awful lot for a corpse. But she was almost scared to move, because who was it that was still lying atop her, his face buried in her throat, holding her closely? Her mortal enemy, that’s who.

   For another long moment she lay and considered this, and then flexed beneath him to get him off her. “Don’t,” he said, holding her arms tightly to her sides.

   “Spike,” she began.

   He lifted his head off her throat and looked down at her. His face looked so helpless and vulnerable as he gazed at her. In the voice of a little boy he asked her, “Are you going to kill me?”

   She stared at that vulnerable gaze and considered this. “You didn’t kill me,” she said. And she had just given him ample opportunity, literally lying beneath him and baring her throat.

   Very gingerly, Spike picked himself onto his knees and sat back. Buffy sat up and curled her legs under her on the grass. They were a little shaky. She and Spike seemed very far away from each other now, a full body’s length. Her hands shook as she placed them on her bare knees. Buffy was half naked, and suddenly embarrassed by the sweatpants around her ankle. Spike was unzipped and disheveled, his white hair a tangle of curls. He still wore that little boy look.

   “So,” he asked. “What now?”

   


	6. Surrogate

   “What now?” Cordelia asked, dropping a whiskey on the rocks on the bar. “Did she forget to use a coaster again? Spend too much at the shoe store? What? Paint her nails the wrong color?”

   “She tried to push too far again,” Angel said, sitting glumly at the bar at the Bronze. Cordy had been working there for almost as long as Angel and Buffy had been married, when she still had her arm in a sling and a bandage on her throat. At first he’d been confused how she’d gotten a job as bartender when she was only Buffy’s age, but he’d come to realize in the last few months that Cordy was actually a couple years older than Buffy — held back in school for skipping, probably, since she was more than clever enough to pass classes. She had to either be twenty-one now, or good enough friends with the owner of the Bronze that he didn’t care if she wasn’t. Not that the Bronze was real picky about things like underage drinking to start with. It was a vampire-feeding trough, and always had been, probably arranged by the Mayor as such. Vampires didn’t care if their victims were underage.  

   “Pushed too far?” Cordelia asked. “You mean she tried to seduce you. Hey! Jerkface! I’ll get to you in a minute, right!” She turned back to Angel. “Hang on.” She went to serve the guy trying to grab her attention, and then turned back to Angel.

   “I don’t know,” Angel said. “Maybe I should try and find her some kind of surrogate?”

   “‘Scuse me, a what now?”

   “You know. Someone who can do for her what I... can’t.”

   Cordelia tilted back on her hip and crossed her arms. “Riiiight,” she said. “And how do you plan to work that idea out?”

   “Well, just explain to her that I know she has needs, but that we can’t do what she wants. But if I find someone who can do  _that_  for her....” He looked up at Cordelia. “Doesn’t that make sense?”

   Cordelia only blinked. “And who, exactly, did you have in mind for this little menage a trois?”

   “I don’t know.” Angel shrugged looking down into his glass. “We don’t really socialize much. I don’t think Doyle would be– Hey. You and Xander aren’t exclusive, right? Maybe I could—”

   Cordy let out a yip of laughter. “Oh, honestly, Angel, you are so full of it. You know what? Let’s ask him. Hey, Xander!” She shouted out across the club.

   A couple of the other servers glared at her, since it wasn’t very professional, but Cordy had been going to this club for so many years she acted like she owned it.

   Xander looked up from the couches where he was chatting with Willow and Oz. He came up to the bar and leaned on it. “What do you need, Cordelia? Another hot injection of manly perfection?”

   “Hardly. Angel here has a proposition for you.” She leaned back and watched with a wicked smile on her scarred face.

   Now that he was faced with the prospect, Angel found himself profoundly embarrassed actually having to say it. But he forged on ahead. “I was just... thinking. Musing. Just an idea, really, you can tell me if I’m crazy–”

   “You’re crazy,” Cordy said, still grinning. “But go on. You gotta hear this,” she added to Xander.

   Angel cleared his throat. “Um. You know Buffy and I can’t... well....”

   “Yes, I know you can’t, well, and I am intrigued,” Xander said, hopping up on a bar stool. “Do tell me how this has anything to do with me.”

   “Well, I was just... wondering... since you and Cordy aren’t, you know, exclusive, if you might be interested in, you know, maybe being to Buffy what I... can’t... be. To her. Just. You know. On occasion sometimes, when she’s too... um. Stressed out or pushy.”

   “Angel is asking if you’d like to be Buffy’s throw away boy toy,” Cordy interpreted.

   Xander looked questioningly at Angel for a moment, seemingly speechless. “Wow,” he finally said. “Let me get this straight. You’re asking your wife’s semi-best friend if he’d like to screw your wife for you so that you don’t have to do it.”

   “That’s not it at all!” Angel said, not sure anymore. “I just thought it would be nice for her to, you know, get what she needs... another way. Than me. Because it’s... awkward.”

   “More awkward than trying to bring this conversation up to her?” Cordy asked. “Because I can just picture it. Here, honey, hope you have extra for supper, I brought Xander over for an evening of wine, Parcheesi, and nookie.”

   Angel felt very uncomfortable now. “Look, it’s not like that. I just remember how you liked her, once upon a time, and I thought you two might... just sometimes....”

   “Buffy made it very, very clear that she’s not interested in me that way,” Xander said. “The only reason she’d even consider agreeing to it would be to please you, and thank you, but I’m not interested in playing stud horse to your teaser.”

   Cordelia looked bewildered, but Angel knew what he meant. Teaser horses were sweet, seductive, usually inferior stallions who were used to entice mares in season to actually want to breed. They would frequently even use donkeys for the purpose. Once the mare was all hot and bothered the owner of the stud would lead the teaser away and replace it with the stallion who would perform the actual deed.

   “Don’t know why you wouldn’t,” Angel muttered. “Sounds like a good deal for a young man.”

   “I’m not an animal,” Xander said. “You know, you may be all stuffed up with a soul, but you know what I think? You still think we’re all beneath you. You’re a vegetarian, but you’re still looking down at us all as some kind of beast. I’m not interested in being put to your mare. And frankly, if Buffy wants someone to do that, she’ll find it herself. And she hasn’t turned to me for it.”

   “If she did, would you do it?”

   “Not if you were the one put her up to it, no,” Xander snapped. “And I don’t think much of being the body she puts your face on when I’m in bed with her. If I’m in bed with someone, I kind of want to be the one actually there.”

   “See?” Cordelia said. “The lamest, sloppiest, worst dressed guy in Sunnydale, and even he thinks better of himself than to play into that dumb idea.”

   “Thanks a lot, Cordy,” Xander said with an eye roll.

   “Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” Cordy said. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips. “Talk at you later.”

   “Bitch.”

   “Loser.”

   She let him go, and he returned to Willow and Oz, smiling.

   Angel stared at Cordy. “I don’t understand you two. You hate each other. Why are you dating?”

   She shrugged. “We hate each other, but we love each other, in some weird, wacked out, stupid way. We fight, it’s hot, we make out, it’s hot, we get sick of each other, we walk away and come back later.” She wiped down the bar. “I mean, it’s not forever. I could never marry that, and he doesn’t want to live with me forever, either. But it’s working for now. We’re friends. We screw. We date other people, and complain to each other about it when it breaks down. It works.”

   Angel couldn’t imagine such a relationship actually working, even temporarily. It didn’t even look like a relationship to him. He knew about on again, off again. He and Darla had done a lot of hot and cold. But when they were hot, they were smoldering, falling all over each other and unable to keep their clothes on. When they were cold they couldn’t stand to be in the same room, and they frequently threatened to kill each other. There was none of this friendly antagonism that Cordy and Xander shared. He couldn’t see how they were happy in it.

   Of course, he couldn’t say much about how his relationship was working, either. “I just... I thought I could do it,” he said. “I thought I could love her without... making love to her, but I just... it’s too hard to be near her and not....”

   “Have sex?” Cordelia supplied.

   “Sometimes it’s that,” Angel said. “And sometimes....” He sighed.

   “What?”

   “I’m so tired of being good,” he said. “It can be so hard sometimes, Cordelia. And the temptation to fall off the wagon is right there, right at arms reach.”

   “But you know what happens if you do that,” Cordy said.

   “I lose my soul.” He swallowed the last of his whiskey.

   “And you’re a major dick when you do that,” Cordy said. “You know, you could always talk to Harmony. I mean, she’s totally evil, but really not much more evil than she was when she was human.”

   “Yeah, but I wasn’t the best person in the world when I was human either, Cordy,” Angel said low. “If I want to be evil….” He didn’t go low-end.

   “I know.” She did know. Angel had gotten drunk at the Bronze a lot since he’d married Buffy, and probably spilled a bit more to Cordy than he actually felt comfortable with her knowing. But he couldn’t help it. She was easy to talk to, and with Buffy and him having so many problems, he needed someone to talk to. Someone who could understand the problems of a teenage human girl in Sunnydale.

   “But I still don’t understand why you had to go  _so_ evil. Why couldn’t you just be selfish evil like Harmony, instead of mucho destructive evil?”

   “It’s just who I was, Cordy,” he said. “That’s why they cursed me with this soul, because I was the worst of the worst.”

   “I swear you still take pride in that,” she said.

   He hated to admit that sometimes he still did. “Pour me another.”

   “Your tab is running up.”

   “I don’t care, I need to think.”

   “To drink,” she said, but she poured him another.

   “I need to sort this out,” Angel said. “It’s crumbling all around me, I can’t just leave things as they are.”

   “If things can’t stay as they are, they won’t,” Cordy said. “But Xander’s right. If Buffy wants someone to boink, she’ll sort that out for herself.”

   Angel shook his head. “Not her,” he said. “She’d never do that.”

   

***

 

   Spike couldn’t believe she’d done that.

   He ducked away from the rising sun and fell into Harmony’s cave. He only went there because he knew it would be empty. He stumbled a bit as he turned the corner – his legs were a little weak.

   Completely knackered, he fell into Harmony’s bed. The scent was all wrong. It smelled like vampire and Harmony’s stupid perfume. But he knew how to fix that. He kicked off his boots, and before he dropped his coat on top fished out the scrap of blooded satin from his coat pocket. Buffy’s teddy. Stained with her own blood, and redolent with her scent. He breathed it in, her blood, her juices, her sweat, all of it on this little scrap of ripped satin underwear. He tucked it under his head as he lay down on the pillows, the whole night replaying in his head in full technicolor.

   “What now?”

   “I....” Buffy had looked completely lost. “I....” For a moment she covered her face with her hands, and her heart rate jumped. “I don’t know how that happened.”

   “Well, you took hold of my prick and put it where you thought it belonged,” Spike said bluntly. He really wanted to be kissing her, holding her, rubbing his hands all over her. His eyes traveled down her body, and god, did he want to know how her quim tasted.

   “Oh, god!” She tensed up. “You are a complete monster.”

   “And you love the monster in me, baby,” Spike said. “It’s not just Angel and his tortured soul, it’s all of us. This is what you want, and you know it.”

   “Shut up!”

   “Make me!” Spike snapped, and he jumped forward for her hair again and forced a kiss on her stiff mouth. She trembled, but it took only a second for the kiss to be returned, a tiny moan of release escaping from her throat. Day and night, dark and light, the kiss was wrong but it was so right. He let her go, gazing down into her face.

   Her eye make up was smudged and dark, looking punk as anything, and her lips and cheeks were pink with her release. “You taste like blood,” she whispered.

   Even her whisper was like a caress up his torso, making him clench. “You taste like death,” he whispered back.

   And then she was kissing him again, her mouth as hungry as if she’d been starving. Her strength was potent, knocking him backwards, and his arms went around her. “Damn you,” she kept saying between kisses. “Damn you, damn you, Spike, damn you.”

   He felt oddly sympathetic. Whatever Angelus was doing to this poor victim of his, it wasn’t kind. Spike recognized this kind of desperation. Usually it was only after Angelus had locked Dru up for some months in some kind of isolation chamber. Starving for touch, for blood, for someone to hear her pleas, Buffy was acting as if she’d been locked in a dark room for six months, and it was only Spike who brought her the light.

   “I’m here, lamb, I’m here,” he found himself murmuring to her, as he would have Drusilla, petting her hair, her shoulders.

   “Just shut up,” she whimpered. She sat back and pushed at his coat. “Off. I want to see you. Let me see you.”

   Spike sat up and readily let his coat fall from his shoulders, tore his shirt right over his head. Buffy set about covering his torso with hot kisses, her burning mouth causing searing lines of pleasure all over his cool skin. She ran her hands over his chest, mouthed at his nipples, bit at his flesh, tangled her fingers into his necklace. He moaned at the heat and the passion of her, and lifted her sweatshirt over her head.

   She actually whimpered at the moment when the cloth made her let go of Spike, but she fell back into passionate kisses the moment she was released. So passionate he knew she was missing out. “Shh, shh.” He stopped her gently and put her away from him a little bit. “Take a moment.”

   “Fuck you!” she barked, and she hit him. He was going to get angry, but she grabbed him and hissed into his face, “Don’t make me stop, don’t tell me I can’t have what I want! You are mine, do you hear me?” She shook him. “ _Mine_ , and I don’t have to stop!  _I don’t have to!_ ” She straddled him and shoved his jeans down further, and impaled herself on his not-at-all protesting prick.

   “Oh, fuck!” he breathed. He lay on his back and let her do what she wanted with him, which was apparently ride him like he was a god damned carousel pony. She arched up into the moonlight, a thin strip of pink satin around her waist, an innocent teddy now stripped of its innocence as the blood from her throat had leaked down inside her sweatshirt and stained the strips of satin that, he saw now, were supposed to tie in a bow, concealing her pert little breasts. A crime to conceal them. He reached up to touch them, caressing the nipples which were already hard as rocks in the cold.

   “Don’t stop,” Buffy was muttering, to herself more than him. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. Ugh! Don’t stop!” She was coming, he could feel it as her cunt fluttered around him, but she kept moving. She wasn’t fully there yet. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop! Oh god!”

   Spike bucked his hips to help her, and slipped his thumb in against her clit, massaging it hard and fast. Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him again with that look of terror and surprise. The she started to cry out, not moans but little whimpers and cries of almost bewilderment. He was starting to wonder if the poor chit had never come before in her life.

   “I got you, baby. Not gonna stop. Look at you,” he murmured. And god, she did look glorious, her blonde hair silver in the moonlight, her eyes dark shadows of smudged mascara, her lips bright red as she pulsed and jerked. It made her hair bounce about like a god damn shampoo commercial. Spike knew he would never forget the sight of her on top of him. If she wanted to pick up a stake and dust him now, he wouldn’t have bloody cared.

   “Oh, no, oh, no,” she whimpered. “No, no,  _no!_ ”

   He let himself go as she screamed again, crying out  _no_  while her body pushed the  _yes_  over and over and over again atop him.

   As she sagged this time he knew he couldn’t let her stop again. She’d nearly bolted, and he wasn’t ready to be done yet. Not yet. He flipped her as she went boneless atop him, casting her down on the manicured cemetery grass, and set about kissing her properly. Her lips, her cheeks, her earlobes, down around her throat, her collarbone. Her bleeding had stopped, probably slayer healing, but he licked up every last drop of drying blood from her collar, her breast, then he trailed down and worshiped her nipple, curling his tongue around it, darting about it, tickling it. He made sure not to neglect the other one, using his hand to fondle and encircle it. Then he switched, making sure to give each nipple the same treatment. The one he’d been suckling on before was wet and cold from his saliva, and her breasts wrinkled and softened over and over again as he made them flushed, and the cold touched them again.

   It occurred to him that she was probably cold. He was a vampire and didn’t feel it much, but she was still warm blooded. “Come here,” he said, lifting her to a sitting position. He reached for his coat and put it around her shoulders. Not the first time it had graced the shoulders of a slayer. It looked right there. He guided her arms into the sleeves – she was a strange mix of demanding and passive this girl – and then pushed her back down to the ground.

   She moaned and let him, apparently deciding to go with passive again for the moment. Suited him fine. He had something he wanted to do.

   After kicking off his boots and sliding completely out of his own jeans – finally, they were really awkward around his knees like this – he slid up Buffy’s legs and took hold of the satin teddy around her waist, easing it down over her hips and down and off her legs. There. Now she was no longer marred by the tight thing. The triangle of her sex glittered at the tip with droplets of moisture, and Spike finally did what he’d been wanting to do, and buried his nose in it.     

   “Oh, god!” Buffy moaned. She tried to sit up.

   “Lay down!” Spike barked at her. If she could be all demanding, so could he.

   “Don’t.”  

   “Why? Afraid you might like it?” Spike said.

   She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those starving eyes, and he realized... yes. That was exactly why she didn’t want it. She knew for a fact that she’d love it.

   If that was the case, she’d try to get away, wouldn’t she? He knew how to keep her down. He knocked her down with a gentle push and turned on his knee, holding her arms down with his shins. Then he arched over her again, his hands on her thighs, his body arced above her, a cage to keep her down so he could have his way with her.

   For long moments she just lay back and let him suckle at her clit, occasionally grunting little moans of pleasure, but she was no fool this girl. She saw what was arced over her head, and she took hold of his cock.

   For a few moments she just caressed it with her fingers, and then she gently touched it to her lips. He ground down on her clit with his tongue and her mouth opened in a cry. He twitched his hips, and she took the invitation. The tip of his cock slipped between her lips, and she licked at it hesitantly. He wanted to just bear down and deep throat her, but no. She was so inexperienced, and she might just decide to kill him if he did anything she didn’t like. His thighs shook, but he kept himself high above her, trying hard to concentrate on her sweet little quim, which frankly was delicious and was well worth concentrating on, but the hesitant, girlish licks to his cock were quite distracting. He knew he was going to come in her mouth if he wasn’t careful. He kept trying to redirect his focus, but it was next to impossible. That hot, dangerous mouth, those little teeth, that exploring tongue. He shuddered and flexed and tried really hard, but finally he couldn’t take it.  _She’ll kill you if you brass her off._  He pulled away and aimed for her chin instead, since he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

   She made a startled sound, sort of an “Oh,” and then her fingers came up and she caressed his jerking member as it shot itself all over her throat in steady pulses of pleasure.

   He hadn’t made her come again, and he was afraid she’d be angry, so he was all ready to defend himself when she rolled out from underneath him and pushed him back on the ground.

   But she didn’t seem angry. She looked around for something and finally grabbed her teddy, wiping her throat with it. She looked at the scrap of satin for a moment, his cum glinting in the moonlight, and suddenly she burst into hysterical laughter.

   As was not uncommon the laughter continued for only a moment, and then turned into tears. Suddenly she was sobbing as if her very world had ended, as loudly as the laughter, as twisted and horrified as if someone had died.

   Spike could never resist a crying woman. He loved them so much he’d been known to make them cry just so he could be close to it. It was no fun if they didn’t cry. It was one of his favorite things about hunting with Angelus, how he’d make the girls cry and Spike could kiss it all away for them. He gathered Buffy into his arms and pulled her back with him against the wall of the mausoleum, kissing the tears from her cheeks. “That’s right, pet, let it out. Let them come.” He kissed her, kissed her lips, her face, her cheeks, her smudged eyes. He graced her skin with tiny little bites, and caressed her hair. They were both snuggled in under his coat, and he embraced her with his legs, and she sobbed and sobbed, unable to stop crying.

   “That’s all right, pet, I’ve got you, I’m here. Spike lov–” He stopped himself from saying it. He had fallen right back into pattern. He was doing what he’d done for Drusilla when she had a breakdown.

   It made him feel uncomfortable to realize that, and he stopped murmuring. He just kissed her for a long time until he realized she was moving under his coat in a more urgent fashion. She was all turned on again, and her cunt had found his knee. He shifted his leg to give her a stronger hobby horse to ride. “That’s right,” he whispered. “You take what you want. Whatever part of me you want.”

   She grunted and writhed, shifting her hips, burying her nose in his chest, his throat, her mouth opening and biting at him occasionally. She was so starved, it was like feeding to watch her claim herself on him. The sounds she made were the sweetest song ever. “Unh, unh, oh, ungh!” It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it might as well have been poetry.

   She came again, a softer one this time, with no deathly screams. She froze over him and then sagged, and Spike rubbed her shoulders underneath his coat. Everything felt so completely perfect he was half asleep when it all suddenly stopped.

   “No,” she said firmly. She stood up deliberately and cast about in the moonlight for her clothes. There, she’d found them. She caught her shirt and the teddy and started wrestling her shoe in through the leg of her sweatpants. She made tiny noises of frustration as she tried to force it through the tiny hole.

   “Buffy,” Spike began.

   “You shut up,” Buffy said, her voice deathly. “You’re still evil. You’re still evil, that’s all this is. You’re the sicko who wanted this–”

   He got up off the wall and caught her hand. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want this.” He glanced down at her half naked body. “Sicko.”

   She snatched her hand out of his roughly. “Fine, I did. Now I did it, and it’s over.”

   “It is indeed. And if you’re not careful it’ll never happen again.”

   “Shut up!” She slapped him. “It happened, now it didn’t happen, you hear me? This never fucking happened.”

   “Didn’t it, now.”

   “No! And you are not telling anyone about this, do you hear me?”

   “Aren’t I.”

   “No!” She reached forward and grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragging him into proper glaring distance. He couldn’t stop smirking. He almost kissed her. “You say one word about this to anyone –  _anyone,_  human, vampire, other demon, I don’t care, kitty cat, you tell anyone and I will... I’ll....”

   “Dust me?” Spike said casually. “I know, it’s kind of a shame, there’s no place to go when the threats all start with death.” He grinned. “You learn that as a killer. It works a little better when you can threaten a bad one. Tortured to death works.”  

   “I could do that.”

   “Could you? Goody two shoes like you?”

   “I could lock you up,” she said.

   “Put me in a coffin? Bury me six feet deep? Not a big threat to one of us, love.”

   “Don’t call me love!”

   “Just an expression, slayer mine,” he said.

   “I’ll give you to Angel!” she snarled.

   “Oh, he’d definitely find out about it, then.”

   “Stop it!”

   It was all but a scream.

   He considered mocking her some more, but it might actually end with his death, he knew, and really... the desperation in her eyes bothered him. “If it’s any reassurance,” he said low. “I never liked to kiss and tell.”

   “You’re a liar,” Buffy said. “Everyone knows you’re a liar. No one would believe you, anyway.”

   “Now that is probably true,” he conceded.

   She ripped his coat off her shoulders and threw it at him, then stared in bewilderment at her ruined teddy. She flung it away in disgust and wrestled her sweatshirt over her head. “This never happened, Spike. You got that? Never.”

   “So you said. Never happened.”

   “Never!”

   “Right.”

   “This didn’t happen,” she said steadfastly, and she stalked off into the darkness. “It didn’t.”

   But it did happen. Or he wouldn’t have been standing naked in a cemetery with his body steeped in the slayer and his knees still trembling at the thought of her.

   He sought out the blood stained teddy before he’d even tied his boots. There was no way he was leaving a prize like that to be tossed out by the groundskeeper in the morning.

   And here it was under his cheek, smelling of her quim and his own cum, her blood and his saliva, a standing testimony to the fact that it had happened, and it was real, and no matter if it never happened again, it was worth it for the best fight of his life.

   Best  _night_  of his life. It was official. The only thing better than killing a slayer was fucking one.

 


	7. Aftermath

  

   It was the sound of a crash that woke him, but had hadn’t been very deeply asleep. Oz jumped rashly out of Willow’s bed with a growl hiding in his throat, ready to defend his love.

   Defend her from her best friend, as Buffy fell gracelessly to the carpet, bringing half a bookshelf and one of Willow’s picture frames with her. “Sorry,” she said.

   Willow was awake by this time, sitting up in the bed with the blanket clutched modestly over her breasts. “Buffy? Buffy, what are you doing here?”

   “I... uh....” Buffy looked up at Oz, looked down quickly, and Oz realized he had charged out of the bed completely naked.

   “Oz!” Willow said with a bit of a hiss, and threw something at him, which turned out to be one of her sweaters. Not particularly helpful, but he half wrapped it around his hips before offering Buffy a hand to stand up.

   “Uh... thanks,” Buffy said. She was blushing a lot.

   “Buffy, what’s wrong? Is something after you?” Willow asked.

   “Uh... no,” she said. “I just. Um. I wanted to use your shower.”

   “What?”

   “Just... I wanted to use your shower. I... uh....”

   “Had a tough fight?” Oz asked.

   Buffy’s eyes darted to his, startled.

   “Your neck,” he said. “You have a bite.”

   “Oh.” She grabbed hold of it. “Yeah. Yeah, I... uh. Got into a fight. With a vampire. A vampire bit me.”

   “Why couldn’t you just knock on the door?” Willow asked, leaving the bed with the sheet wrapped around her. She looked out the window. “Did you climb up here?”

   “I jumped,” Buffy said. “It was easy.”

   Easy as perching on an inch wide ledge and wrestling the window open. Oz’s wolf memories were often a little vague, but he knew he’d have trouble with that even on the night of a full moon.

   “I guess,” Willow was saying, “but... door?”

   “It’s after hours.”

   “But why didn’t you just have the RC ring me from the front desk?” she asked. “I’d have let you in.”

   “Bit hard to explain, Willow,” Oz said quietly. “She’s got blood on her shirt.”

   “Why didn’t you just go home?” Willow asked.

   “I... um. I didn’t want to worry Angel. You... you know how he gets, right?” She laughed too loudly, and Oz sighed.

   “Here,” he said. “You can borrow Willow’s shampoo.”

   Buffy started again. “What?”

   “There’s, uh, grass in your hair.”

   She snatched at her ruffled hair, and then put her hand down, shaking.

   He picked up Willow’s bath basket and pushed it into Buffy’s hands. “Go on,” he said. “Take your time.”

   “I....”

   “No one will bother you if you go to the last shower cubicle,” Oz told her. “Willow says the light bulb is burned out over there.”

   Buffy relaxed a little bit and closed her hands around the bath basket. “Thanks, Oz.”

   “Willow, can you find her a robe or something? We should, uh... get her sweats to the laundry room.”

   “Oh, right.” Willow went to her pile of clothes and dug around for her robe.

   “This was a...  _fight_  you wanted to be in, right?” Oz asked seriously as Willow turned away. “Because if it wasn’t, you probably should tell Angel.”

   Buffy’s shoulders tensed and she stared into Oz’s eyes. She knew exactly what he was asking. “Angel can’t know,” she said. “Please.”

   “So it wasn’t...?”

   “No. It was. I mean we were both... fighting. I....”

   “Willow will lend you some clothes,” he said low.

   “Here, Buffy,” Willow said, having found her robe. “You know, I get you don’t wanna scare Angel, but seriously, he knows you get into fights all the time.”

   “This was a bad one,” Buffy said. “He worries. I don’t want him saying I can’t patrol alone or anything.”

   “He  _already_  doesn’t like it when you patrol alone,” Willow began, but Buffy was already heading out the door.

   “Pick out some clothes for her to wear, okay Will?” Oz said. “She doesn’t want to worry Angel, just... leave it at that, okay?”

   “Is there something I don’t know?” Willow asked suddenly.

   Damn. She was too damn smart to lie to. “You saw everything I saw, Will,” he said. “She says it was a bad fight. We should believe her.”

   Willow stared at him suspiciously, her brow in that cute little furrow it got, but then she sighed. “Okay. I guess that’s all we can do. She’ll tell me later if something’s up, anyway.” She went back to her closet to pull out clothes. “Do you think Buffy would be caught dead in this?” she asked, holding out a red shirt with a porcupine on it.

   “I don’t think she’s going to be picky,” Oz said. He sighed and sat down to put on his boxers. He was glad Willow had bought it. He had told the truth, he saw no more than Willow did. But he  _smelled_ lots more than she did. Buffy  _reeked_  of Spike, and it wasn’t an innocent fight. And a vampire’s sense of smell was even more keen than his was most of the time.

   If he could smell what Buffy had been up to with Spike, he knew Angel could have, too.

 

***

 

   Buffy kicked off her shoes, then stripped off her bloody, grass-stained sweats with her hands shaking. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t go home, Angel would know in a second what she had been up to. He always knew what she’d been fighting, sometimes  _who_  she’d been fighting.  _Oh, you got that guy who lived by the river? Well done._  He’d recognize Spike. He knew Spike. Hell, he’d all but sired Spike, right? Or was it Drusilla who did that? She knew Angel had sired Drusilla. Back when he didn’t have a soul, of course, and was evil, and he felt bad about her. Did Angel feel bad about Spike? Did he feel responsible for Spike at all? They were leaving each other alone, did they still hate each other? Had Angel ever really hated Spike? He never really tried to hurt Drusilla or Spike or kill them even before he’d lost his soul. And what about how Spike felt about Angel? She knew there was some kind of hatred there, but what and why? Was it just over Drusilla? Was it just jealousy? And what kind of jealousy would there be if Angel found out about—

   And there all her questions fell away again as the memory of what she and Spike had done hit her like one of Spike’s punches. She staggered, her breath catching, her groin clenching, and oh, god, Spike, above her, Spike, beneath her, Spike, inside her, Spike....

   She shoved the flashback away and finished tearing the shirt over her head. She glanced at herself in the full length mirror. Thank god the dorm bathroom was empty this time of night. She was a mess. Bruises all up and down her body, and her neck with a big, wide bite on it. She looked closely at it. It was shallower than the one Angel had given her, and had missed the jugular or anything important, but it was wild. This was a fight bite, nothing deliberate or finessed about it. He’d opened his mouth and just driven in his fangs.

   It wasn’t just the fangs. Those were the deepest punctures, of course, but there were bruises and dents of the whole rest of his mouth. It looked... pretty. He had very symmetrical teeth, did Spike.

   And then her eyes caught on her hair, and they went wide. Grass in her hair. Right. A hank of it was clumped with drying vampire semen. “Oh, god!”

   She turned on the sink by her hands, and then realized this was stupid. She turned it off and went into the furthest shower cubicle, drawing the curtain. She left the robe on the floor of the main bathroom and brought her sweats with her into the water, which she turned on full and hot. The water sounded tinny in the echoing bathroom. It wouldn’t get hot enough. No doubt there was some energy saver in place on the hot water heater, dammit. She climbed under it anyhow, wishing it was lobster hot, scalding hot, hot enough to burn the memories out of her head.

   Spike, above her, Spike, beneath her, Spike, inside her. Spike’s teeth and Spike’s hands and Spike’s tongue and Spike’s shins and Spike’s chest and Spike’s ass....

   She realized she hadn’t gotten to see his ass. Not really.  _Something for next time, then,_  said a wicked corner of her psyche.

   “No!” she told it aloud, and palm punched the wall of the shower. She cracked a tile. Hopefully no one would notice. It was dim back there. The bulb  _was_  burned out. She was glad. She didn’t want to see herself.

   She kicked her sweats and shoes under the water, hoping the scent would wash away. It was too late, of course. She was sure Oz already knew. She hadn’t counted on the werewolf guy being in Willow’s room, though she really should have, it was stupid to think he wouldn’t have been. And Oz had seen or guessed or smelled – he had a weird smell thing sometimes, right? Like Angel did? – and he knew, and he was worried whether she’d just had a...  _fight_ she’d actually wanted to have.

    _Had_  she wanted to have it? Had she wanted to be with Spike? She would have said no, but every time she’d tried to say no to Spike while she was doing it she kept finding herself saying yes, or grabbing for him again, and she hadn’t wanted to stop, she had felt something she hadn’t ever felt before and—

   And her groin clenched again at the thought of that, and more memories of Spike, above her, Spike, beneath her—

   “Stop it,” she said to herself.

   But her stuff...  _Fuck this, call it what it is._  Her starving little cunt hadn’t wanted to stop, it had wanted more and more of Spike inside it, touching it, licking it, being there....

   Maybe the water was working and relaxing her, or maybe she was just tired of fighting herself. She found her tense shoulders relaxing, her body exhaling, and she leaned against the wall, just remembering the sensation of what Spike had done to her, pushing her, pushing her, pushing her further than she’d ever pushed herself before, revealing that the orgasm that she’d thought was all she wrote was only the start of something overwhelming.

   Why hadn’t she ever pushed it further than the beginning before? Because that was all she’d gotten when she’d been with Angel? There was more to it than that, really, she’d masturbated before she’d had sex with Angel. She’d masturbated _thinking_ about Angel before she’d had sex with him. The first time she’d been about fourteen and practicing kissing with a pillow on her bed. It involved a lot of humping the covers and some tight underwear. But why had it never been that before? Why had she never  _let it_  be more?

   The feeling had frightened her, she knew that now. It was overwhelming, it was scary, and every time it had started to overwhelm her, she’d stopped. She’d get close to the edge, and then she had run away, every time. Never daring to jump. She was never hesitant as a slayer, never too afraid to face death, but facing pleasure, facing the depths of herself…  _She_ frightened her more than any beast or monster or demon. And Spike cut through that fear. He just kept pushing and pushing until she’d fallen right over and down and down and down, and there was something inside her she’d never dared to face before.

   Her clit was swollen again thinking about it. It wasn’t Spike, that’s all. It was just her, her body, needing to let itself out. She slipped her fingers down between her legs, and there, it was a full, hungry little nub of flesh, wasn’t it. A little more tender than it usually was. Almost a little painful to touch, but somehow she didn’t want to let go of it. She leaned against the wall and rubbed at it, just there, this was hers, right? It wasn’t Angel’s, and it sure as hell wasn’t Spike’s. She pushed and pushed and, oh, god, did she dare? Did she dare without Spike to take her over the edge?

   She wouldn’t let him own this. He may have drawn it out of her, but it was hers, right? She kept pushing and slid down the slippery shower wall onto the floor of the shower, not thinking about how many people used this shower regularly, and spread her legs into a butterfly and worked herself over and over and

    _Spike’s face as she made herself come. That’s right. You take what you want. Whatever part of me you want._

   No! God damn Spike! God damn him, god  _damn him!_  “Damn you,” she muttered. “Damn you, damn you, damn you, oh god! Damn you, oh god! Spike... oh!” She swallowed down the cry she wanted to make, unwilling to draw the rest of the dorm, and forced herself to bite her lip and hold her breath and just make it fucking come already! It hit her softly, not as hard as the first or even second times, but it was still more than the pale imitation she’d been nursing before tonight. Now she knew not to stop too soon, even though it scared her, even though it felt so good it almost hurt.

   She stopped finally, gasping, almost crying. Why did he have to be so understanding about that? Why couldn’t he have demanded she come on his cock, forced his own pleasure over hers? Why did he have to let her have her way on his leg and fondle and caress her and kiss her and hold her and be so damn accepting of her just taking her own pleasure on him?

   Why did he have to do what she wanted from Angel?

   No. No, this was never, never, never going to do! She cupped her hands and caught the water from the shower, rubbing it over her pussy, douching with it as best she could to get every trace of Spike or even her own arousal off of and out of her. She took a dollop of shampoo and lathered her pubic hair. She stood back under the shower and shampooed her hair, twice. She exfoliated with Willow’s loofa, rubbing her skin red, particularly any place she remembered Spike touching her. She made her nipples sore as she scoured at them.

   She just had to forget this, that’s all. So Spike had awoken something in her, it was only ever in  _her,_  right? She was the one who had grabbed him, she was the one who had wanted this. Clearly her pussy had known something she hadn’t. Now she’d be better able to satisfy herself, and she wouldn’t have to torture Angel. That was a wonderful thing, right? She ought to thank Spike. He made things  _better_  between her and Angel!

   She conditioned her hair so she’d look nice and then went back out of the shower and slipped on the robe. She carried the wet clothes down to the laundry and threw them into an empty washer, including her shoes. She’d walk home barefoot before she let even a drop of scent reach Angel’s nose. He shouldn’t have to know what made everything so much better. He shouldn’t have to know  _how_  she’d found out about herself.

   She came back to Willow’s room and knocked softly on the door. “Everyone decent this time?” she asked.

   “Yeah, we’re good,” Oz said, and Buffy came in.

   “Here, I got you these,” Willow said, handing her a folded pile.

   “Thanks. I put my other clothes in the laundry, but I don’t have any change....”

   “I’ll get it,” Oz said, and slipped out with a handful of quarters, not incidentally giving Buffy time to change into Willow’s clothes. She slipped on the simple skirt and porcupine shirt without comment, and then grabbed a silk scarf from off Willow’s vanity. “Mind if I borrow this?”

   “Go ahead,” Willow said. “Going to hide the bite from Angel?”

   “No!” Buffy said. “Um. Well. Maybe. Just a little.” She looked over at Willow. “You’re not going to tell him, are you? It was just a stupid vampire fight, I just don’t want him getting all... like he gets.”

   “He does get much with the paternal sometimes, doesn’t he?” Willow said.

   “No, he doesn’t!”

   Willow raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t he?”

   “He just wants me to be safe. To protect me.”

   “Nope,” Willow said, with only a trace of sarcasm. “Nothing paternal about that.”

   Buffy tossed her head and ran Willow’s brush down it. It stuck. Willow’s conditioner didn’t really work for her hair. She forced it down anyway and set it back on the vanity. “Thanks so much, Willow, you’re a lifesaver.”

   “Not a problem. You headed home?” Willow asked as Buffy stood up for the door. “Slayer done her bit for the safety of the night?”

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “I’ve definitely done enough tonight. Thanks again.”

   “Wait, Buffy, you don’t have any shoes!” Willow called after her, but Buffy was already halfway down the hall, and didn’t care to stop. She needed to get away from any more questions from Willow. And she really wanted to get away before Oz came back with any more damning insights.

 


	8. Confess

 

   “Buffy!” Angel stood up with a look of relief on his face as she came in. He hurried over to help her with the door. “You were gone, I was worried about you.”

   Buffy was startled. She had been hoping to change out of Willow’s clothes before she spoke to him. “It’s... not that late.”

   “No, but... I mean I came home and you weren’t....” He had his puppy dog face on. “I just don’t like us fighting.”

   Oh, god, she’d even forgotten about the fight. And here he’d probably been feeling guilty and terrible all night, while she was out.... With a sudden lunge she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly – so tightly he shuddered. He had confessed that sometimes she scared him. The demon in him couldn’t always forget that she was a slayer. She tried to ease up, but it felt so good to hold him and have him and know he was still hers.  _He won’t be if he finds out,_ said the dark voice in the corner of her mind. “I don’t, either,” she whimpered. She buried her face against his shoulder and just held him for a long, long time. He smelled of his hair product and alcohol and the heady scent of vampire.

    _Spike had that scent, too. But different._

   Angel squeezed her back and breathed into her hair. “God, I’m sorry, Buffy. You know I’m sorry.”

   “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean....”  _I didn’t mean to_. She’d almost just confessed already. What the hell was she thinking? “Would you just... hold me for a bit?”

   “Of course I will,” he whispered. He bent, and Buffy found herself lifted off her feet, carried across the living room like a new bride, and into Angel’s own sacrosanct chamber. He really was sorry. Usually his bedroom was kinda off limits these days. He placed her on his manly brown sheets with a tenderness born of true love, and bent to take her shoes off, only to discover... she was barefoot.

   “What happened to your shoes?”

   “Oh, I... um. Got into a messy fight. Fell in a mud puddle. I cleaned off at Willow’s.”

   “That explains the shirt,” he said. “She didn’t have any spare shoes?”

   “I didn’t ask,” Buffy said. She wanted this conversation over. _I did it,_  she didn’t say.  _I’m wearing Willow’s clothes because I slept with Spike. I slept with Spike._

   Why were the words fighting in her throat?

  _He’s going to ask about the scarf._  She was sure of it suddenly, as sure as she was that the sun was going to come up. And she wondered if the bite mark had a hickey around it.

   But he didn’t ask about the scarf then. Instead he curled around her on the bed and tucked his arm under her head.

   _I slept with Spike,_  she didn’t say.

   “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

   Tears stabbed her eyes. What had she done? “I am too,” she said, and she couldn’t help it. The tears spilled over, and Angel rubbed her shoulders.

   “It’s okay, Buffy, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do. Please stop crying.”

   “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to force the tears down. She rubbed them off her face. Her eyes hurt. She’d spent a lot of time crying tonight. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry, it’s just....”  _I slept with Spike._

   “I know, it’s hard,” he said. “And I’m sorry, I really am.”

   “So am I. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t....”  _Shut up! He can’t know!_

   What the hell was wrong with her? It was like some invisible inquisitor was inside her head, whipping at her, shouting,  _Confess! Confess!_  She couldn’t confess, but it kept insisting, whipping her again and again and again.

   She wanted to be honest with Angel. She tried to imagine what his reaction would be. Would he be angry? Would he be only hurt? Would he try to kill Spike?  Would he... no. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t hit her, despite the fact that violence was laced in both of their natures. He wouldn’t dare hit her. Just like she wouldn’t hit him.

   If he hit her, would she hit him back?

   _He went totally evil once, and it took me months to really hit him back_ , she reminded herself.

   It seemed weak to her.

    _Spike would hit her back._

_What does that have to do with anything?_

   She had split in two inside. One part of her was the inquisitor, or was at the mercy of the thing, and wanted to confess everything to Angel. Why? Was it actual guilt, or was it just to see what would happen? She wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel like guilt. It seemed almost proud of having landed her mortal enemy in bed. Or into the grass in a cemetery, but same diff. The other part of her was clinging onto that Buffy’s coattails insisting,  _No, don’t do that, that’s completely crazy!_ That was the part that felt guilt. The guilty part was the one that wanted to keep her mouth shut. She had cheated.

   What would that do to Angel?

   She buried her face in his chest and tried to enjoy it like she would have last night, or even earlier tonight, but it only felt now like she was hiding. His strong arms were not giving comfort. But at the same time, she loved him more than she’d ever loved him before, and clung to him as if he were about to be taken away from her. Taken away by forces beyond her control.

    _It was all in your control. It was always in your control._

_Shut up! You’re the one who got me into this, you horny bitch!_

   “I love you, Angel,” she said instead. “I love you so much.”

   “I love you, darling.” He kissed her forehead and shifted slightly away from her, to be more comfortable.

   He was going to let her sleep there. It had been at least a month since he’d last done that.

   Buffy lay in his arms as if in a tide pool of confusion. For long moments she was calm,  swimming with placid life, clinging to the rocks of this world she had made for herself with Angel. And then intermittent waves of insanity would come crashing down, and the impulse to confess would again surge into her throat.  _I slept with Spike. I was on top. We did a sixty-nine. I slept with Spike. It made me scream and scream and scream. It was really violent, and then really sweet. He held me while I cried. He told me it was okay._

   But of course it wasn’t okay, because she was with Angel, and she’d had to shower vampire stuff out of her hair before she could go home.

    _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done,_  whispered that voice in her mind. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t begging for an answer. She just knew that the innocence was broken.

   Sex always broke the innocence, didn’t it? It did with Angel, and now again it did with Spike. Sex with Angel had made everything fall apart around her. Sex with Spike was making everything fall apart inside her.

   And the memory of sex with Spike made her groin clench suddenly, and again she wanted to tell Angel. _I slept with Spike. I slept with Spike._

   _Get a grip,_  she told herself. _Remember, now you’ll be able to take care of yourself better, and this whole thing with Angel will get easier. Remember that, and don’t let this eat you up._

   “Angel?”

   _I slept with Spike._

   Angel made a small noise. She looked up. He’d fallen asleep.

   She wanted to be content to just lie there in his arms happily, but the desire to tell him was somehow even larger now. “Angel, are you awake?”

   His only reply was a slight snore.

  _I slept with Spike._

   But she didn’t even dare say it when she thought he was asleep. What if he wasn’t? No. No, she couldn’t say it. She wanted to say it. She wanted to be honest. She wanted to tell Angel everything.

   And she knew she could never tell him this.

   Instead she slid out from under his arm and slipped off the bed. She felt strangely free, and strangely terrified. She wasn’t at all tired, even though by now it was nearly five in the morning. What with patrol, and fight, and sex, and walking to Willow’s, and the shower, and going back home barefoot, the night had trickled away. Of course Angel was asleep, he would soon be trapped by the sun.

    _No. He has the ring now. He doesn't have to be trapped._

   But he still lived in the darkness. Even with the sunlight as his gift, he still clung to the night.

   But she didn’t have to. If she left now she could catch her mom before work. And some tiny, young part of her desperately wanted to see her mother.

   She went and dug out some boots but didn’t even bother changing into her own clothes before she snatched up Angel’s car keys and stole his convertible again. Maybe Joyce would have some advice on how to deal with this whole awful mess she’d gotten herself in.

 

***

 

   “I wasn’t expecting to see you here this early.”

   “Got caught up, uh, patrolling,” Buffy said.

   “I hope you’re taking care of yourself,” Joyce said, touching Buffy’s cheek. “You look flushed.”

   Buffy’s cheeks flushed even brighter. “I do?”

   “Just a little. Maybe it’s this color on you. I don’t remember that shirt...?”

   “Oh, it’s– it’s Willow’s,” Buffy said absently. She opened up the refrigerator and poked around. “Don’t we have any orange juice?”

   “There’s some frozen,” Joyce said. “Would you like a grapefruit?”

   “Yes!” Buffy pounced on the proffered fruit and sliced it in half, then set about meticulously and deliberately cutting all the sections so it could be easily eaten with a spoon. As she cut she said something Joyce had been dreading her saying for years.

   “Mom? Why did you and Dad break up?”

   Joyce’s mouth went dry. “Oh, it was a lot of things.”

   “A lot of things like what?” Buffy pushed the first half of pre-cut grapefruit towards Joyce as if it were a peace offering, then she twirled the paring knife over one finger for a moment before attacking the other half.

   She did that so casually, as if the weapon wasn’t even a weapon, but some kind of baton or sports gear.

   “Why do you ask?”

   “I just... I think I need to know,” Buffy said. “What was it? What was the final straw? I mean, I know you were fighting, I wasn’t deaf. I just... what was it exactly?”

   “Sometimes people just aren’t made to stay together, Buffy, and your father and I came to the realization that even though we had loved each other very much, and we both still loved you, we just weren’t compatible any longer.”

   Buffy looked up. She had heard this spiel over and over since she was fifteen. “Mom, was Dad cheating on you?”

   Joyce opened her mouth to begin the whole litany again about compatibility and adult decisions, and Buffy cut her off at the pass.

   “Please, I’m not a kid anymore. I need to know. I’m not gonna hate Dad, I just... I need to know.”

   Joyce looked at her daughter’s hand, still expertly using that knife. She wasn’t a child. She hadn’t been a child since before the divorce, if she understood that whole Chosen Slayer thing correctly.

   “Yes,” she said finally. “He was.”

   “Was it just the one time, or...?”

   Joyce sighed and poured another cup of coffee. This was going to be a long morning. “No,” she said. “It was more than one time. And more than one woman. I think. I only really know about the one, but I had suspicions about the others.”

   “Suspicions?”

   “Strange expenses, some odd phone calls. Sometimes he came home smelling like someone else’s soap.”

   Buffy’s head snapped up. “That was a clue for you?”

   “I’m not stupid, Buffy,” she said. “One of his secretaries, I think, and probably someone from his gym. And of course the girlfriend he had in LA. You met her.”

   “Yeah. But... you both said they got together after the divorce.”

   “They did. But they were sleeping together before that.”

   “Oh.”

   “Yes,” Joyce said. She hated this conversation, but Buffy seemed determined.

   “So he… just slept around on you, for like…?”

   “Years,” Joyce said shortly. “Yes.”

   “I’m sorry,” Buffy said, and her voice sounded heavy.

   “Buffy, honey, it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

   “Yeah, I’m just… I’m sorry that he… did that to you. Did… did it hurt?”

   “Yes,” Joyce said softly. “Yes, it hurt.”

    Buffy stared at her, and her expression was so like Hank’s. It was disconcerting. “What did it feel like?”

    “Well,” Joyce said, keeping her voice clear and even. She was past the rage and the pain now, or at least past letting it control her. “It ripped my heart out.”

    “Why?”

   She didn’t answer right away, trying to gather her thoughts. “It was a betrayal,” she said evenly. “I know they call it that, but you don’t really know what that means until it happens to you. I know you’ve experienced betrayals, honey. Angel, Faith, right? Magic and demons aside, weren’t those betrayals?”

   Buffy looked down. “Yeah.”

   “Well. It was like that.”

   “But it was just about sex, right?” Buffy said. “I mean Angel and Faith and everything… that was like… life and death stuff.”

   “Sex is life and death stuff,” Joyce said. “There are dangerous things about it, life changing things, like AIDS and babies. And even without that, sex is powerful. It’s… important.”

   “But not to everyone,” Buffy said.

   “Anyone who says it isn’t important isn’t being completely honest,” Joyce said. “At least I don’t think so. Anyway, it was important to me. When you’re in a relationship, you trust the other person with your heart, and when that person cheats… it’s like they threw it away.”

   “But it’s just sex. That’s not love, right? So does that mean they don’t love you? Really?”

    Joyce took a sip of her coffee to give herself time to think. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “But it certainly felt like that. Even more than the sex itself, there’s the lying and the sneaking around, all the dishonesty. All of that hurts.”

   Buffy looked straight at her mother. “I lied,” she said quietly. “I snuck around.”

   Joyce looked back at her. “I know. But you’re honest with me now, and we’ve gotten past that. Haven’t we?”

   Buffy looked stricken. “Did it feel the same?”

   Joyce thought about lying, and then opted for the truth. “Yes,” she said. “Dealing with you lying about the Slayer stuff did feel a lot like when your father lied to me. But you explained you were trying to keep me safe, and… I wasn’t very understanding about it at first. So I can understand why you felt you had to hide. We both messed up there. So.” She shook her head. “A couple should be able to be honest, just like mothers and daughters should. When lies happen, and keep happening, you begin to doubt yourself. You wonder what you did wrong. How you drove the person you love away.” 

   “But what if you didn’t do anything wrong? What if it just happened?"

   “It didn’t feel that way. It felt like  _I_  had done something terrible. Which wasn’t fair, I hadn’t been the one who cheated, but I felt blame for it. Why would he do that do me? Why would he hurt me like that? Why couldn’t he talk to me? I started to feel like I couldn’t trust anyone. Not you, not my friends. If you can’t trust your husband, who can you trust?”

   “But what if he didn’t mean to hurt you? What if it was just the way it happened, and–”

   “Buffy.” Joyce wanted to make sure the two weren’t conflated. “What you did wasn’t at all the same as what Hank did. You lied only because you were trying to save people, and protect me. Your father was lying… because he wanted to do something for himself. It was selfish. Not at all like what you were doing.”

   “Selfish, yeah, but…. Look, I know it hurt you, okay, but it’s just… what if that wasn’t the point of the whole thing? What if the sex he had with those other women had nothing to do with  _you._  You didn’t do anything wrong, so did that mean he just instantly stopped loving you?” She was sounding increasingly agitated. “You were together for years after the first time, right? You still loved each other, didn’t you? I mean, he did this thing, this bad thing, does it make him evil? What if it was all some big mistake and he just couldn’t help himself? What if it just happened, and kept on happening because… because….”

   “Honey, no, calm down.” Joyce said. She got up from the chair and put her arm around Buffy in a hug. “It wasn’t like that. Your father isn’t evil. He just….” She sighed. “Some people just aren’t ready for a one-on-one relationship. But when we were young, it was all about getting married and settling down with a family, whether we were ready for it or not. Your father… just wasn’t ready. I think maybe he resented being tied down. I know we loved each other once. I don’t think it all went away the first time he slept with someone else. I think that was a symptom of the fact that we  _were already_  falling out of love with each other. Do you understand?”

   Buffy didn’t say if she did. She just looked down. “What if he didn’t  _want_  to hurt you?” she whispered.

   “I know he didn’t,” Joyce said. “He probably wasn’t thinking about me at all. That’s the point, Buffy. I didn’t matter enough to him anymore. But that’s not evil. Just… human.”

   “Is there any way to make up for it?” Buffy asked. Her voice was thick. “Could you ever have forgiven him for something like that?”

   “I tried, honey, but how many times should I accept being hurt before I admit that it’s not going to stop?”

   “I didn’t mean you should get back together with him,” Buffy said. “I just… is there any way to fix it?”

   “I don’t think so. Not if it keeps happening.”

   “Why?”

   “Because it meant he didn’t respect me or our relationship enough to stop, or even be open and honest.”

   “Maybe… maybe he wanted to be honest, but knew he couldn’t? What if he loved you too much to leave you, but things just… happened? And then he couldn’t tell the truth? What if….” She sounded panicked now.

   Joyce frowned, troubled by Buffy’s reaction. “Buffy–”

   “No, what if he had come up to you, and said he wanted… he  _needed_ to have sex with someone else? What would you have said?”

   Joyce regarded her for a long moment, and then told the truth. “I would have told him that if he needed to be with someone else, that he should be with her. And not with me.”

   Buffy’s breath caught and she rubbed at her face. This did not look like the answer she wanted to hear.

   “Sweetie…. Did something happen?”

   “No,” Buffy said, too quickly. “I’m just… asking for a friend.”

   “Is this about Oz and Willow?”

   Buffy swallowed. “Sort of.”

   “I thought they’d sorted it out.”

   “They did. He admitted it, and he’s sorry.”

   “Well then.”

   “But… it’s still there. And the reasons why it happened. Those are still there.”

   “Well, I think your friends should think long and hard about what happened, and decide what’s really important, and whether or not they can change, or go on as they are. And I think they can.”

   “But can you come back from something like that?”

   “I think the question isn’t can you, but should you? When it comes to Oz and Willow, I think they’re both mature enough to make that decision on their own.” Joyce caressed Buffy’s hair. “Does that answer your questions, sweetie?”

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “I think I heard everything I need to hear.”

   Joyce poured her some coffee and the conversation switched to happier topics, but Buffy still looked distraught. Joyce was fairly sure there was more going on than Buffy had admitted, but she’d already learned….

  The Summers family had a habit of keeping things secret.  

 


	9. Don't Look Now

   “I don’t suppose you could give me any pocket money?”

   Finn glared at Spike over the table. “Now you’re demanding a salary?”

   “Do you see me demanding?” Spike vamped up, and before Finn could move he’d darted around the table and grabbed hold of Finn’s shirt, glaring into his face with yellow eyes. “This is what demanding looks like.”

   Finn tried to knee him in the stomach, but Spike had already let go and danced off laughing. “You should see your face, Whitebread! Went even whiter.”

   “Do I need to tell Walsh we’ve turned your chip down too low?” Finn asked.

   “Oh, come on, Captain America. Was only taking the piss. I’m serious though,” he added. “Could use some dosh to snag some ciggies.” Or maybe some flowers. Or some sex toys. Spike didn’t really know what he wanted, all he knew was he couldn’t get the slayer out of his thoughts. “What’s it take to get a raise in this place?”

   “Well, you have to be an exceptional operative,” Finn said. “You have to follow orders like a soldier. Oh, and you also have to not be an evil hostile sub-T bent on the destruction of humanity.”

   “Who said I wanted to destroy humanity?” Spike asked. He finally took up his bag of blood. “Wouldn’t have any nosh then, would I?”

   “Sub-T operatives don’t receive a paycheck,” Finn said. “You get your blood. You’re lucky we don’t lock you up.”

   “We’ve been through that. Why bother anymore?” He growled too low for Finn to hear him. “You got any more jobs for me?”

   “You’re asking for an assignment? Again?”

   “You’re thick in the head?” Spike asked. “Still? Yeah, this is me, asking. Couldn’t you tell?”

   Finn looked suspicious. “You’ve been doing this for days. You never asked for assignments before. Why now?”

   “Why not?” Spike asked. “What else I got to do?”

   “I don’t trust it. For months you grudgingly agree to go on assignments only for blood, and these last five days you’ve been asking for a new one every night.”

   “I’m bored,” Spike grunted.

   What he was was randy as fuck. He’d tried going to Harmony once she got back from her little trip to LA, but he had found her actively disgusting. He’d managed to do it, of course, but he’d had to flip her over, grab her by the hair, and pretend it was Buffy. Wanking was distinctly unsatisfying. Blood was unsatisfying. Getting blind drunk was only moderately distracting. Demon hunting was the only thing that even began to take the edge off the weight of Buffy in his mind, the weight of her body, the scent of her hair, the sounds in her throat, the strength in her hands, oh, god, how the fuck was he ever going to get over this?

   It was like he’d taken heroin. All he wanted was to have it again. And again. And again.

   He didn’t trust the Initiative not to raid his pockets, so Buffy’s teddy had been relegated to his car, which he'd stashed in a cave outside the campus. It was the only thing he had that locked, and he kept the keys hidden under a specific rock. He made himself a little shrine inside the glove box.  The teddy had been hidden inside an air-tight metal biscuit box, so the scent wouldn’t fade. (That scent bloody haunted him.) After that he’d grabbed other things that reminded him of her. A wooden stake. A blonde wig. He’d even raided the old burnt out factory and found some of Angel’s sketches. They annoyed him because they were Angel’s, but he kept staring at them because they were Buffy.

   He was asking at the Initiative for more demon hunting missions, or even just leads, because he was trying like hell not to go to Buffy’s house. He didn’t know if Joyce or Buffy had instigated a disinvite, but he was afraid to go there. What he was feeling was so damn intense he was afraid of it. It was nothing like what he’d felt for Drusilla, and he’d thought her the love of his life. It was intense, overwhelming, a powerful mixture of lust and blood lust and almost minion-like adoration. It was desperate. He refused to name it, but he was terrified of it. And he knew her old house would be full of her. Full of memories of Buffy, her old room, her scent, her things. He dreamed of pawing through her drawers, rolling in her bed, petting her old stuffed animals, finding her old photo albums, staring at pictures of her, as a baby, as a child, as her own sexual overwhelming current-aged self. He was afraid of it and he absolutely longed for it. He knew for a fact that he’d go there eventually. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to leave.

   The thing he was even more afraid of was going to Buffy herself. Going to that mansion on Crawford Street. Risking Angel to be near Buffy. Risking Buffy to be near Buffy.

   God he wanted her again.

    _Knock it off, William,_  he told himself.

   “Look, do you have any more leads on demons or not?” Spike asked.

   Finn looked a little smug. “Maybe,” he said. “There have been reports of another nest of vampire-style HSTs somewhere near the train tracks, if you wanted to check that out. Give us a head count.”

   “I’ll give you a body count, if you just tell me where,” Spike said. “Or did you want them alive? More chip fodder? ‘Cause I could intimidate them into getting trapped easy.” It was just regular minion-claiming, Spike had done that for decades.

   “We don’t need any more like you,” Finn said. “Matter of fact, we may not even need you much longer.”

   “That supposed to intimidate me?” Spike asked.

   Finn shook his head. “Nope. Just stating a fact. Walsh has another project in the works. Once we’ve implemented 314, we may not need adapted HSTs for fieldwork.”

   “Well... you don’t  _need_  me now. There’s not enough of me to be needed.” Maybe when there’d still been a team of chipped up vamps it was a useful military unit, but with just him? He was barely a drone. Just one minion was not an army, no matter how good he was.

   “You noticed that, huh?” Finn said with that smirk. “Maybe you should be a little more grateful that we haven’t already decommissioned you.”

   Spike’s hand automatically went to his heart, but covered up the protective gesture with a shrug. “I can always make myself useful,” he said, but he knew it was bluster. He was a toy Walsh was playing with, and kids get bored with toys. She didn’t know or care who or what he really was. As far as she was concerned, Spike was no better than any pissant fledge. She didn’t ask for his history, his lineage, his skills. She just sent him off like a clockwork toy after other toys she wanted to collect. Maybe this new project was just another new toy? “So what’s this 314 bollocks?”

   Finn scoffed. “A. Classified. B. You don’t need to know. C. Wouldn’t tell you if I could.”

   “So, you don’t know either, huh?” Spike asked. “Tell me, Finn, is this even real, or did you just make it up to intimidate me?”

   “Oh, 314 is real enough,” Finn said. “And I don’t need to spout rumors to intimidate you.”

   It was just a rumor, then. Spike wasn’t reassured, unfortunately.

   “You’re just a tool, 17,” Finn said then. “No more or less useful than a stun-gun or a tracking device. You’re a little more autonomous than a K9 unit, that’s all. But you know what happens to K9 units when they’ve outlived their usefulness?” He grinned. “They get put down.”

   “Finn? If I was a K9 unit, I’d have pissed on your leg already. Do you have any jobs for me or not?”

   “Just the vamps by the tracks. Abandoned boxcar. Not sure where. We were going to check it out tomorrow.”

   “I’ll clear it out tonight,” Spike said.

   “Maybe we’ll check it tonight,” Finn said. “Or maybe not at all. Or maybe they don’t exist.”

   “Don’t play games with me. I’m just looking for a little violence. Are you helping or not?”

   “Just don’t want you warning your buddies we’re coming,” Finn said.

   “Any vampires know I’m working for you and they’ll take me down, anyway,” Spike reassured him, for what had to be the twentieth time. They’d gone through all this during what he considered the training period. “I thought we were past all this bollocks.”

   “Walsh trusts her technology. I’m not so sure I do,” Finn said. “She says the chip makes you compliant and obedient. I think you’re just biding your time.”

   “Oh, I can be obedient, Finn,” Spike said. He thought about Buffy. If she’d just honor him with her touch he’d be her willing bloody slave. “You needn’t worry about me.” He squirted the last of his blood into his mouth and swallowed it down with a grimace. He could still taste the drugs in it. “I’m out. See you around.”

   He slouched out the the Initiative, ruefully thinking that the only person he wanted to see… was Buffy.

   

***

   

   _I never want to see him again,_  Buffy said to herself as she marched through the shadowy railyard. She’d heard there might be vampires there, and slayage helped distract her from her own troubles. She knew her heart. She knew her mind. She knew she wanted nothing to do with Spike.  

   So why the hell did she keep dreaming about him?

   She’d had another one this morning. It hadn’t started off with Spike, of course. The dreams almost never started off about Spike. They started off with her searching for something, hunting through a cemetery, or through a sewer, or through the darkness. She would be hunting, sometimes with Angel by her side, sometimes alone. And then something would happen, the wall would cave in, or the ground would open up before her.

   This morning she’d dreamed she was in a forest, and she found an enormous tree. She felt a deep need to climb it to find what she was looking for. She’d climbed and climbed and climbed, for what seemed like forever. She was almost near the top, almost high enough to get a good view over the landscape and find what she was hunting for. But then a branch broke beneath her. For long minutes she clung to the branch above her, the stars swirling as if the world was spinning, and then she was falling. She screamed in terror, only she suddenly wasn’t falling, she was flying, and someone was holding her up, holding her body in the air, and when she turned around it was Spike.

   It was always Spike. When the wall caved in, he was the bricks that surrounded her, and she was back in his arms. When the ground opened up he was the dirt she slid down, and she landed beside him, and was all over him. This time he was the wind that whistled past her head, and her falling was flying, and he was the air itself as it caressed her alive.

   She woke up moaning for him, her pussy slippery, her clit swollen in its cleft, and her heart beating like a rabbit’s.

   “God dammit,” she muttered.

   It wouldn’t have bugged her so much if these dreams weren’t frequent finders. She’d had dreams about Spike well before she’d jumped him in a cemetery. She’d dreamed about him after their first fight. She’d dreamed about him after that Halloween when she’d gone 17th century virgin. She’d dreamed about him after she’d thought she’d killed him in the church. She’d had dreams about kissing and even making love to Spike even before she’d first made love to Angel.

   They’d faded after she had had sex with Angel and her body had become horrible to her. And then after the truce, after Angel had been sent to hell, she’d been too full of grief to know what she was dreaming. Mostly it all just made her sad. Then once Angel came back, Spike was mostly out of her life, and she’d mostly forgotten about him.

   Except for that one time after she’d broken up with Angel. After Spike had come back and pointed out that she and Angel would never be friends, and she’d known he was right. She’d broken up with Angel, and then she’d had one more dream of Spike. He had come to her and told her she’d done the right thing. That he knew her heart, he knew her mind, and she couldn’t hide from him. Not ever. And then of course they had... again. Because somehow she always ended up touching Spike in these dreams. But it had just been some sublimation of teenage hormones and violence, right?

   That was what she’d told herself at the time. But now she’d jumped Spike in a cemetery, and she could no longer pretend that her dreams of him weren’t really dreams of him. She was fucking Spike in her dreams, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.

    _If I never see him again it just won’t be a problem,_  she told herself when she woke. But god she was horny. She stuck a pillow between her legs and humped at it, biting at her lip. It seemed such an empty kind of gesture. “Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered into her sheets, wanting it to happen fast. Where was that feeling? Where was that release that would banish her dreams and send Spike out of her head again?

   It took too long. She tried to think about Angel, about his touch and his body, but that wasn’t what came into her head, and it wasn’t what made her body tingle. She gave up and bit at the blankets, thinking about Spike,  _Spike, Spike, fuck him, Spike._

   A subtle sound, or maybe her vampire senses tingled, and she stopped. She looked up. The taste of iron flooded her mouth as she saw Angel in her doorway. He hadn’t knocked, he’d just opened her door, probably thinking she was awake, or not wanting to wake her harshly, and what did it matter, he was her husband, he shouldn’t have to knock, but here she was, humping her….  

    She was horrified, terribly embarrassed, and sat up hurriedly. “Angel, I– I was– I was... um....” She couldn’t think of anything she could pretend to have been doing besides masturbating with a pillow after a sex dream.

   “Willow called,” Angel said. “She said she was done with those notes on history, if you still wanted to borrow them before class. You can, uh… meet her at her dorm room.”

   Buffy’s cheeks felt hot. “Thanks.”

   “I’ll, uh... leave you to it,” Angel said, looking awkward.

   Buffy quickly rolled off the bed and went to him. “You don’t have to. Um. I mean....” She reached out and touched his cheek. “If you wanted to stay, I... um....”

   “I don’t think so,” Angel said.

   “I know it’s... um... kinda weird, but... I mean it’s not as if....” She swallowed. “We are married.”

   “Buffy. I don’t think that’s something I need to be a part of.”

   “But I want you t...” Her words caught as she said them. She wanted him. She did want him. It was selfish of her, but it was what she wanted. “I don’t mind if it’s you seeing it.”

   Angel looked at her for a long moment. “I think you do,” he said.

   She didn’t stop him from leaving this time, because the truth was, he was right. She  _did_ mind him seeing it. Some part of her thought she shouldn’t, and tried to make it okay, but the truth was that it felt wrong for Angel to see it. Because it wasn’t Angel in her head as she did it. It should have been, but it wasn’t.

   Angel had gone to his own room, and she felt too embarrassed to go back to bed, either to sleep or to keep on doing what she had been doing. Besides, she had a class at nine. Better to just get up now and take a shower before heading to the campus, get those notes, study, learn, graduate. The real world. Not dreams or fantasies or things that couldn’t be. Just reality. So she went to class. Went to class, studied with Willow, she’d even popped her head into a campus party. She’d come home after sunset, hoping to collect Angel and do a little slaying.

   Angel wasn’t there. She’d considered getting angry, and considered trying to track him down, and finally decided, screw it. She didn’t need him to go slaying. She could hunt by herself. It wasn’t as if she was going out to run into Spike again, and even if she did, she’d just tell him to go away. She’d go off for a slay, could get some dust in before bed, and hopefully be too tired to have any dreams at all. She could keep Spike out of her head.

   She could.

   And then she saw him. There Spike himself was, black and white and distinctly obvious, sauntering towards her through the railway yard in the security lights. It was as if her brain had up and  _summoned_  him or something.

   “What the fuck are you doing here?” she called out to him.

   “Tush, tush, such language,” Spike said with a bit of a smirk. “You’d think your pristine mouth had been sullied or something.”

   “Get out of here,” Buffy snapped. “I’m trying to work.”

   “And we both know how to work it, don’t we?” he asked. He came up closer to her.

   “Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t come near me, and don’t play games with me. I told you, nothing happened, there’s nothing between us.”

   Spike’s smirk broke into an outright grin. “Fun when there’s nothing between us, i’nit?”

   “ _Don’t!_ ” Her voice was loud enough to echo over against the unused rail cars. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Spike. Get away from me.”

   “Or what?”

   Her hand tightened around her stake. “Get away from me, or I  _will_  kill you.”

   Spike’s jaw clenched, and he breathed out a sigh. “Buffy--”   
    
   “Don’t start. You’re a murderer and a monster who took advantage of me, and I never want to see you again.”

  Indignation passed over his face. “I took advantage of  _you?_  Who’s the one who put her hands all over the goods, then?”

  “I said get out of here, Spike!”

  He scoffed with something like disgust. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get out.” He turned away from her and stalked off, adding “Bitch” not nearly quietly enough to mishear it.

   The second time she saw him was not even twenty minutes later, as she was tracking a vampire deeper into the railyard. There was an empty boxcar, unrailed and rusting by the fence. A flicker of light inside suggested a camp lamp or something. Which probably meant the nest. But there was Spike to the side about a hundred feet away from the car, smoking a cigarette petulantly and looking daggers at her. But not going away. “I said get out of my sight!” Buffy snapped as she strode up to him.

   “Free country, love,” he said. “And speaking of country matters….”

   “Shut up.” She reached back and hit him, hard.

   “Tease!” he called out as he flew into the shadows.

   She waited, but he didn’t return. She stepped on the cigarette butt he’d dropped, squared her shoulders, and turned back to the boxcar. She was here for a reason, and that reason was to slay monsters, not to banter with Spike.

   She kicked her way in and dealt with the small nest efficiently, slaying three vampires without even breaking a sweat. They were young and stupid and far too easily slain. It was disappointing, to say the least. She grumbled and hopped out of the boxcar, only to run into Spike for the third time that night.

   He said nothing. Neither did she. He just looked up at her with that little boy look expression, and hunger in his ice blue eyes.

   She grabbed him, threw him inside, and had his clothes off before he had time to call her any more names.

   


	10. Shadows

 

    It was surprisingly comfortable in the vampire’s nest. A Coleman lantern was hissing from a crate to the side, where it was wired to the wall. It cast stark shadows over the mattresses and couch cushions that the fledgelings had lined the floor of the boxcar with. Buffy was sweating from her exertion, after knocking Spike down and having her way with his prick. He seemed stunned, gazing up at the ceiling. They hadn’t said a word, neither rude nor anything else, unless you counted grunts and groans and sensuous whimpers as they went right back to where they’d left off the last time.

  They were bruised, hand marks and teeth marks and muscles strained. Her body was tingling, hot and cold at once. Oh, this was wrong. This was so wrong. She couldn’t even explain to him how badly it was wrong. As soon as her mind connected back to her body again she had to listen to it, dammit, and it was telling her she was  _wrong_. She flipped back to her knees and started digging her clothes up from the cushions and crap on the floor – oh, god, how many victims had died here? She hoped none. She didn’t see any active blood stains, but god, vampires had been living here! And all this stuff was probably picked up from the side of the road, anyway, garbage, rain, roaches, ugh!  – all prepared to run away.

    “What’s the matter, love?”

    “Don’t call me that,” she began. “This never happened, Spike—”

    “Never happened. This is a song and dance I’m going to have memorized before this is all over, won’t I?”

   “Spike!”

   “Right. Never happened. But don’t go yet.”

   “I—”

   “Until it never happened, it’s not over,” he insisted.

   “What are you—”    

   “Shh.” He stood up and took hold of her from behind. “Stop moving so damn fast, love. You’re not in prison. You don’t have to eat quick because some bugger’s gonna take your plate.”

   “I don’t—”

   “Want to think about what you’re doing,” Spike whispered low in her ear, refusing to let go of her arms. “You’re missing half the fun. Look,” he said, directing her gaze to the shadows on the wall of the box car. She didn’t want to look, so he forced her head and then bit her neck, making sure her eyes would open wide with fear, expecting something else. But he only caressed her flesh gently with his human teeth, and then whispered in her ear, “Look at us.”

   There was a shadow on the rusty wall, a silhouette of man and woman, melded together, stark and clear as a paper cut out. Buffy stared for a long moment, and then shook her head. “It’s hideous,” she said, but she was lying. It was a beautiful set of shadow puppets. He was cut and muscular, she was trim and athletic. Her waist was an hourglass, his hips were an arrow, both of them looked like artwork, perfect examples of the peak of humanity when brought down to shadows. “I don’t want you to touch me anymore,” she whispered.

   “Then I won’t touch you.”

   His touch disappeared from behind her, but his shadow only grew larger as he came closer to the light source. Then he stepped aside, and the shadow stepped aside too. Only the shadow Spike kept its arm around the shadow Buffy. Then it slowly danced aside and caressed her shadow hair, using the back of one finger. It was so gentle, such a dance of beauty that Buffy took a step closer to her shadow, making it smaller on the wall.

   Spike’s remained large, and his shadow hand slid down her shadow arm, just tickling at her shadow flesh. Her own arm tingled as if he was really touching her. He stepped closer and his shadow hands touched her back. “Turn,” he whispered.

   She did, her shadow body turning sideways, showing a perfect silhouette of her form, her breasts, her back, her buttocks, sketched out in light and darkness as if by an artist. Spike’s shadow snuck up behind her and ran his fingers down her spine. Her breath caught as the light dance tricked her mind. His fingers slid down around her buttocks, and then his large shadow arm snaked around her, cupping at her breast, sliding down to tickle at the tufted tangle of shadow hair below her belly. He stayed there only a moment, twisting around her in a graceful dance, bending to his knees.

   The image of the two of them glittered. Spike’s head bobbed as if his tongue were between her folds. There he was. Spike on his knees before her, as if her slave. Shadow Buffy’s head went back as her own felt heavy. The image was so beautiful, evocative and sensual, and it made her long for more. It was the kind of thing Angel should have been doing, the kind of game he could have been playing with her. Shadow puppets of sensual beauty, caressing her from a distance in a dance of blissful imagery.

   And Angel had never been so inventive.

   She turned to look down on Spike. He was on his knees a little behind her, bobbing his head, carefully keeping an eye on the shadows to make sure they were perfectly aligned. He looked embarrassed the moment she turned to him, but squared his shoulders and held out his arm. The shadow of that arm had, a moment ago, been fondling Buffy’s buttocks. Now it was reaching out for her. “Come back,” he whispered.

   She trembled, but stepped away again. “No.” She turned back to the shadows on the wall, stepping delicately toward them, the tiny slayer shadow dark and stark, moving on the more diffuse vampire on his knees. From where she stood, she seemed to come right to his face. Her hand reached out, and her shadow, darker that close to the wall, touched Spike’s hair. In her case you could see it even passing over his greyer shadow. Her shadow finger trailed down his jaw, passed over his chest, and she bent, not touching his cock, which twitched anyway as her shadow passed over his. She chuckled. Did she really have that kind of power over him?

    She glanced back behind her, only to find Spike an actual silhouette, backlit by the stark propane lamp, a shadow of himself. She turned back to the shadow on the wall and tried an experiment. There was a piece of foam from the ratty cushions at her feet. She ripped off a wedge of it and held it out. In her hand it was foam, but as far as her shadow was concerned, it was a hard wooden stake, and crisp and deadly as any she’d made in her life. She held the shadow stake to Spike’s shadow throat.

    “Hang on, love,” Spike said, standing up.

     “No,” she said, not looking at Spike. She addressed his shadow, towering above hers. “On your knees.”

     For a full breath Spike hesitated, and then sank back down to his knees. His body was in profile, but his head was slightly turned, leaving only his jaw and a bit of one ear to read him by. His real eyes were fixed on the shadows. Buffy held the shadow stake back to his throat, and slid it down his torso.

    The shadow trembled. “Does she scare you?” Buffy whispered.

    “Yeah,” Spike whispered behind her. “She bloody well does.”

    “Why? She’s only a shadow.”

    “And she’d bloody well kill me if she could,” he said. “I’m no more than a shadow meself.”

    “She’s a lot smaller than him,” Buffy said.

    “She’s a lot of things more than him,” Spike said.

    “So this….” Buffy held the shadow stake to the shadow heart of the shadow vampire. “If she did it, would he be dust?”

    The question hung for a long moment. “Try it,” he whispered.

    It was like a spell. She couldn’t help but try it. She stabbed the stake quickly, and the shadow Spike gripped it in his huge, diffused hands, and fell backwards, disappearing into the shadows, and a puff of dust trickled in the light.

    Buffy was startled, turned, half convinced she’d just created some magical slaying, because it wasn’t that much weirder than the other shit in her life, only to find that Spike had fallen down onto the mattresses and thrown up a handful of dust from her earlier slay. He was dusting off his hands with a grin on his face, and before her shock could turn to either indignation or scorn, he threw a couch cushion at her face.

    “Gottcha,” he grinned.

    Buffy threw it back at him, but he was ready with a pillow, and then she threw the actual little foam stake, and then he countered that with the edge of a mat, and she kicked his coat at him, and he fended it off with another couch cushion, so she tried to rip the couch cushion out of his hand, and succeeded, and beat him over the head with it, where he side kicked her to the mattress and then recouped his attack with a throw pillow, and by the time they’d beaten both the cushion and the pillow to their internal stuffings and were rolling in a rain of stuffing and ripped foam, Buffy was laughing, Spike was howling, the vampire nest looked more like a mouse nest, and then he was on top of her again, or she was on top of him, and they were laughing and laughing and laughing as they tried to find new weapons to attack, a battle that was hampered greatly by being physically attached to each other near the waist, and not inclined to stop that activity, no matter how enjoyable the pillow fight was.

    “I will beat you next time,” Spike avowed as she tossed aside his last attempt at a weapon.

    “You can never win against a slayer.”

    “You can never win against the hundred year pillow fight champion of the underrealm,” Spike said, chuckling in his throat.

    The laughter slowly died as their bodies became more attuned to other things, but Spike had one more word to say on the subject. “Isn’t this better than crying during?”

    “I thought you liked them to cry.”

    The reality of their state came back to them. They weren’t college kids playing at being lovers. They were mortal enemies, a murderer and a slayer, engaged in something tawdry and wrong.

    And then Spike lightly tossed it away. “Yeah, well, I want  _you_  to laugh.” And he bit her nose.

    “Ow!” Buffy said, but she did laugh. “You’re gonna get it, now.” And she rolled him over and pinned him down, sitting on his chest. “Get out of this one, buster!

    Spike stared up at Buffy’s cunt, which was resting just over his neck. “Why on earth would I want to?” he said with reverence. He slid his arms up around her knees and only managed to  _escape_  so far as to slide himself further beneath her to where his mouth found her pussy, and he licked her from cleft to clit.

    Buffy’s eyes opened wide, and she almost got up off him, but he had her pinned down by her legs. She was stronger than him, but what he was doing felt so damn good she didn’t want to get up.

    Her hips bucked gently over him, vaguely wondering if she should worry if he could breathe, but no, he didn’t have to breathe, did he, he could just keep going on her pussy as if it were a triple-fudge sundae and he had no spoon, and he sure did seem to be going at it just like that, and it was hard to keep her breath, and what if this took too long, and what if she didn’t come, and then his hands were rubbing at her ankles.  _Don’t worry about it_ , those hands said.  _Just relax and relax, and let me worship you._  She leaned back on her buttocks, sitting more fully on his collarbone, and Spike tilted his head back to reach her clit again, lapping at her like a cat with cream.

    She looked down. That was exactly what it looked like, his little tongue darting out of his pink, pink lips. His eyes were closed for the most part, but sometimes he would open them, gaze up at her body, travel up to her face and then back down in disbelief, and then bring his lips in as he kissed and kissed and kissed her clit in honor, and then back to lapping at her, feeding off her pleasure as much as her heat and her juices and oh, god, she almost didn’t care if he’d bitten her, if she were bleeding.

    She’d hidden that bite from before from Angel. She’d hidden all her bruises and marks of that night from Angel. She stopping being convinced that he’d know from the way she moved or the way she dressed, but that need to confess had never really left.

    Confess that she was  _awake_. She looked back to the wall. There she was, in all her glory, a silhouette of a kneeling woman, kneeling to pray before a god of pleasure, who was between her knees. All that was visible of him was his legs, one knee up in a casual position, prepared for this to go on for as long as she needed it to….

    Which wasn’t going to be very long. Her breath came harder and her hands slid down her legs to her ankles, where Spike’s hands were. He released her and let her grip his wrists, him gripping hers, as she pulled against him, pulled against him as he pulled the pleasure out of her body, pulled a whimper then a cry then a scream out of her as he refused to leave her be. Her body rose up in an instinct to escape, and he rose with her, up on his elbows, hunting that pleasure, chasing it down until she lost the scream and the power in her legs and she came crashing down over him again, murmuring,  _fuck you, fuck you,_  over and over, and he, the bastard,  _laughed_. He  _laughed._

He crawled up her and bit at her throat. His chin was wet with her, and he was getting it all over her. Damn it, she was going to need to shower, anyway. She turned her head and caught him in a kiss, tasting herself on him. It wasn’t an unpleasant flavor. Acidic and animal, and his lips felt very smooth with it. “When this is all over,” she whispered to him, “and I kill you, remember this, will you? Remember this is what I really killed you for.”

    “A better reason to die I never heard.” He kissed her hard, again, and then grinned down at her. “But none of this ever happened. So you’ll have to come up with another reason, pet.”

    “I’m too tired after that,” she whispered. “I’ll just have to stake you now.” She reached for another ripped piece of foam out of the ruined nest beneath her. “There,” she said, boffing him in the general area of the heart with it. “You’re done. You’re out of my hair.”

    Spike caught her hand around the foam stake and kissed each one of the fingers. “When we’re all done with this,” he whispered, “and I kill you.” He nibbled at her wrist with his blunt human teeth, catching her skin and leaving little concentric bite marks. “You can remember this was exactly what it’s for. And why I’m honoring you,” bite, bite, bite, “by taking you completely inside me.” Bite. A real one this time.

    “Ow!” she snatched her arm out his jaws.

    He’d vamped up, but the bite was shallow, only in the muscle of her arm. He let his fangs down and licked the blood from his lips. “You going to waste that?” he said, looking at her arm with a determinedly evil smirk on his blood tinged lips. “Come on, there’s no veins,” he said, catching the arm back gently. “I just had a full meal of you. This is just dessert.” He reached down and licked the trickle of blood from her arm.

    Buffy knew she should stop him. This was just as wrong as everything else they’d been doing. But she’d gotten worse wounds training, and she knew a bandaid would usually mop this thing up. It really wasn’t life threatening, even if she’d squeezed every drop of blood she could out of it.

    Spike noticed her looking. Of course he had. That was part of his ploy. “You can watch,” he said. He licked at another trickle of blood. He was trembling now. Buffy had to admit, so was she. “Get to know the enemy,” he said gently. For a flicker of magic his fangs lengthened, his face darkened, but he fought it back. “Know what it is we crave,” he said with a tremble in his voice as he forced his teeth human and closed his mouth on the wound.

    It was exactly like a kiss. He kissed the wound on her arm as if he were in love with it. He kissed and worshiped it for long moments, and then broke away with a sigh, like a little boy who had finished a popsicle. He licked at the punctures again, no longer bleeding, just clean and puckered. They weren’t very deep.

    “You should have asked before you did that,” Buffy said pointedly.

    “You’d have said no,” Spike said. “I didn’t see you stopping me.”

    Buffy glared, knowing she should have.

    “Nah,” Spike said. “We’re not about asking, you and me.” He crept up on her. “Are we?”

    Buffy hadn’t been asking. Not once.

    “We don’t ask,” Spike went on whispering into her ear. “We take.”

    “And if we don’t want be taken?”

    He leaned back, looking exasperated. “What do you think?” Spike said. “We kill each other, right?” He scoffed. “You thought this was playtime? You want to be able to call time out? Thought we were mortal enemies, slayer.”

    “I know that,” Buffy snapped. “But does it need to be so final?” She just leaned her head back. “I may have things I need to do that day, and not have any time to waste dying. Or killing.”

    “Really.”

    “Yeah. You know, young woman has a busy schedule. Hair appointments. Finals. A random apocalypse.”

    “Yeah, well,” Spike said with an indulgent laugh. “I think we’re perfectly capable of stopping each other if we mean it,” Spike said. “Don’t you?”

    Buffy’s humor cut off. “We  _should_  stop.”

    “I said stopping each other,” Spike said pointedly. “Not stopping ourselves.” He reached out and took hold of her ankle where it was curled between them. “You’re not ready to stop tonight, are you?”

    How the hell could a cool touch on an  _ankle_  be so damn sensual. Tingles ran up her leg, and her toes curled. “We should stop,” she said. “ _I_  should stop.”

    “You’re not going to,” Spike said low. “Not yet. Please not yet.”

    His eyes were dark in the stark lighting beside them. She glanced over at their silhouettes against the boxcar wall. There was an almost perfect chalice of light between their dark faces as they sat before each other. She turned to look properly, and her face morphed, disappearing in the shadows. But Spike’s silhouette still faced her intently. She closed her eyes. “Not yet,” she whispered, more to the shadows than to him. Her shadow wasn’t ready to leave yet.  

    He moved in then, likely for a kiss, but she opened her eyes, staring at him steadily. “When I go,” she said, “You let me go. When we stop, this stops. This never happens again. This never happened at all,” she said. “Do you understand me? I’m married to Angel. That’s real. This isn’t. If you tell anyone---”

    “Tell anyone about the thing that never happened, either time?” Spike said. “That would be boring as hell.” He leaned over on top of her and looked down into her eyes. “You know, slayer, I don’t feature protecting your virtue, much. I’ve got my own reasons not to tell tales out of school.”

    “Like what?”

    He shrugged. “Think about my position. I use to be the Big Bad. Now I’m shagging a goody. This gets out, my reputation is shot. Fortunately,” he grinned as he bent down to kiss her. “My secret is safe with me.”

 


	11. Stupid Things

   So, it had happened twice now, and Buffy was fairly sure it was probably going to happen again. Once was exactly one thing. Just an anomalous point in space. Two points however (as they had carefully explained to her in the geometry class she had failed at fifteen thanks to being distracted by her calling as a slayer and having vampires in her school basement to attend to) was enough to form a line. And linear things, she had discovered, tended to lead to other things in, well, a straight line. Which meant she had to contend with the fact that she was an honest-to-the-devil adulteress, and she was just going to have to deal with that.

   She told herself she wasn’t ever going to do it again, while at the same time trying to assess places she could use to shower off after she totally did it again. She could only go home if she was sure Angel wouldn’t be there. Willow’s dorm was still possible, but kind of awkward, and sometimes Crawford Street was between her and Willow’s. Angel might catch her if she had to go that far on a regular basis.

   So for tonight, she snuck back into her mother’s house at Revello Drive.

   It felt both familiar and strange to climb back up to her old bedroom window, jimmy the intentionally-shaky lock she’d broken to make this easy, and slip back into her old room. She used to do this all the time, mostly when she’d been out slaying ( _with Angel_ , hissed the guilty part of her brain.  _You used to sneak around for Angel!_ )

   Now of course she was sneaking for Spike, and god was that wrong.

   She went to her closet. Of course, all her good clothes were at Crawford Street. She stared inside. Finally she dug out a turtleneck that didn’t fit her very well, and a pair of pants she hated, flinging them onto the bed with abandon. She was very, very quiet as she snuck into the hall toward the bathroom.

   Hot water was blissful. She sank in and let it soothe her bruises. She soaked the bite on her arm. God, how was she going to hide this? Long sleeved shirts until it healed? She supposed that would have to work. In fact, given the bruises, that’s exactly what she’d need. Damn.

   She went with the full enchilada, shaving her legs, washing her hair. Then she glanced at her pussy. She had to wash that too, of course. She idly shampooed it, gently touching her sore clitoris as she did. She had never done much with her pubic hair, it not being something that anyone ever saw much. But with Spike’s tongue and Spike’s lips passing over it, she had a strange desire to feel it smooth. The clit was smooth, as was Spike’s cock. Would the rest of her feel good smooth, too?

   Biting her lip at her daring, she angled herself and started shaving. At first she just took the edge of the triangle of hair, making her smooth legs go up just a little further. But then she just started cutting down, shaving her labia and the back of her slit where there were fine little hairs that grew up around her. She stopped just half an inch above the hood, leaving enough hair for a triangle – she didn’t want to look like a child or anything – but leaving everything else smooth as a dolphin.

   She sat up and let the water out of the bath, oiling her shaven legs and her labia, too. Have to take care of newly shaven areas. She felt wonderful, relaxed and sensuous. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her body was... beautiful. The bruises showed up in the shape of Spike’s hands, or the half-moons of Spike’s teeth. They didn’t look ugly. They were purple and blue like eyeshadow, and somehow they made her feel... no.  _No, Buffy, you are not allowed to think this is beautiful. It’s an ugly habit leaving ugly stains on your skin._

   But she stood and stared for a long time anyway.

   Finally she slipped a towel around herself and opened the door to go back to her bedroom, only to find her mother standing in the doorway with a baseball bat. Joyce relaxed as soon as Buffy stepped out. “I’d hoped it was you,” she said. “But I didn’t want to knock, in case it wasn’t.”

   “What are you doing up?” Buffy asked, startled. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be sneaking, and Joyce’s appearance flustered her.

   “What are you doing here?” Joyce countered. “Why aren’t you at Angel’s? Oh, god!” She grabbed Buffy’s shoulders and stared down at her. “What did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Oh, baby.”

   “What?” Buffy pulled away and looked at where Joyce was looking. There were bruises peeking obviously from under the towel, and the bite on her arm was puckered and obvious. “Um... no, this….” She covered the bite with her hand, even though she knew it was futile. “This wasn’t Angel.”

   Joyce frowned. “You didn’t get those bruises from Angel?” she asked. "If you did we need to-"

   "It wasn't Angel, Mom!"

   Joyce stared hard at one on Buffy’s throat, and Buffy felt herself blushing. There was a bite bruise there. Probably officially a hickey. “Then... why are you here at four in the morning?”

   “This was closer than my place,” Buffy said. “I just wanted a shower, is that a crime?” She pushed past her mother and into her room, where she quickly closed the door in Joyce’s face.

   She had to hide the evidence! She pulled the shirt over her head without bothering with a bra. Turtlenecks were a crime against fashion, but there was always a reason for everything.

   Joyce’s hesitant knock didn’t let Buffy pretend it was over. “Just a second!” she called out, forcing the pants over her wet legs.

   Joyce waited a moment and then opened the door a fraction. “Buffy... come on downstairs with me,” she said. “I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

   Buffy sighed. “Okay.”

   This was not going to be a fun conversation.

   Buffy made herself as presentable as possible given the circumstances and then went down to the kitchen, where Joyce had already started the hot cocoa. “Come on, sit down,” Joyce said, pushing the cup before her. Buffy slid guiltily into the seat and wrapped her hands around the cocoa. “So you say it wasn’t Angel who gave you those bruises.”

   “Mom, I get bruised all the time, I’m a slayer, I’m—”    

   Joyce gave her a sharp look and she shut up. “If it wasn’t Angel, it was some other vampire,” Joyce said. “That bite on your arm was distinct.”

   Buffy just looked darkly into her cup of cocoa. It didn’t have a marshmallow in it, though Joyce had them ready. She felt too embarrassed to reach for one.

   “Please tell me it was Spike, or someone reasonable like that,” Joyce said. “Because if it was someone you had to dust, that’s going to cause some real problems with you, psychologically.”

   Buffy looked up. “You  _want it_  to be Spike?”

   “I want it not to have happened to you at all, but now that it’s happened, all I can do is hope for the best,” Joyce said. “Spike seems the most reasonable of all the vampires you’ve ever, um, introduced me to. Parents night aside.” She looked at Buffy. “ _Was_  it Spike?”

   Buffy sagged and finally reached for a marshmallow.

   “Is he as marked up and bruised as you are, or was this one sided?” She reached for Buffy’s arm, touching her warmly and with concern. “I need to make sure you’re okay.”

   “It’s... um... mutual,” she admitted. She dropped the marshmallow in her hot chocolate and bobbed it with her finger a few times, letting it pop back up. She licked the foam off her finger and glanced up at her mother. She saw only a confused attempt at acceptance.

   “That seems pretty violent to me,” Joyce said carefully. “But so long as you’re sure you know what you’re doing. I assume you’re breaking up with Angel?”

   Panic flooded Buffy’s soul at the very thought. “No,” she said quickly. “I can’t. Mom, don’t ask that again, I can’t. I love Angel. He’s my life. I love him, I can’t just—”

   “Okay,” Joyce said, with that  _calm down_  tone. “Okay, just... this is dangerous, Buffy. Not just whatever you’re doing with — Spike?”

   Buffy nodded. “Yeah. Spike.”

   “But Angel can be dangerous too. Don’t you remember?”

   “That was when he didn’t have a soul,” Buffy said. “He wasn’t really him.”

   “Spike doesn’t have a soul,” Joyce said reasonably. “And that doesn’t seem to be a problem for you.”

   “That’s why it’s okay!” Buffy blurted out, unaware that she’d already rationalized it in her subconscious. She’d probably been doing that in her dreams for a week. “Spike’s not a real person, he doesn’t have real feelings, so it’s not like I’m really cheating. I’m just getting what I can’t get from Angel, and then Spike goes off, and it’s okay, and I can go back to Angel and give him what he needs, which is my love and my support and I can be his wife, and we can share our souls, and it’s okay. It’s totally okay.” She took in a deep breath. She didn’t want to be fighting off tears. “It’s gotta be okay.”

   “Angel... has agreed to this?”

   “Well... no. He wouldn’t... not with Spike. I mean, he and Spike hate each other. And that’s the point, that’s the other reason it’s okay. It’s not like I’m doing it with a friend of his or anything. That would be like a betrayal, right, but with Spike it’s just... you know, more fighting and stuff. Keeping the status quo. I’m not… messing up  _their_  relationship anymore than it already is. Right?”

   Joyce rubbed her face for a moment, and sighed when she’d finished. “Buffy,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. “I think you might not understand what you’re doing.”

   “No, mom, _you_  don’t understand,” Buffy said. “Angel  _can’t._  Okay. He can’t.  _We_  can’t. And I thought it was okay, but... but...” She had words all planned out. Where had they gone? “But....” The words were lost in the tears that suddenly fell from her eyes, and all she could do was cry into her cocoa.

   Joyce’s arm when around her. “But you’re young, and vibrant, and it isn’t okay. Is it.”

   “No!” Buffy sobbed. “I’m sorry,” she heard herself whispering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t stop, and then… then....” Her words completely disappeared into an indecipherable whimper, and she couldn’t even be sure what she was trying to say. Something about being miserable and this being too big for her and that whatever she was doing it had to be okay, it just had to be, because she couldn’t stop it. She finally finished off her babble with a whimpered, “and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

   Joyce held her close and kissed her hair. “It’s all right, baby. This was always going to be too big a burden for anyone. Even a slayer. It wasn’t fair to demand so much of yourself. Or for Angel to—”

   “No, but I have to!” Buffy said, pulling away from Joyce. “I love Angel. I do, I love him. I will always love him. It’s just... I... I can’t... I have to do this. It’s.... It sounds stupid.”

   “Sound stupid,” Joyce said. “It’s okay.”

   “It- you said it was life and death stuff,” she said. “It is! It feels like it, like I was dying. I told myself it wouldn’t happen. Not with anyone. And then it happened. And then it happened again. And I don’t know if it’s going to happen again or not, I don’t want it to. But then when I was with him, I did. I do. I I’m alive, and mean I’m there, and he’s there, and I try to punch him away, and he goes, and then I regret it, and I want him back, and then he’s back, and it’s like... I can’t send him away again. I can’t leave Angel, I can’t, but I can’t... I couldn’t send _him_  away. And I’m afraid no matter how many times I send him away I won’t let him go.” She buried her head in her hands. “I’m not making sense.”

   “Actually, you’re making a lot of sense,” Joyce said wearily, and she dropped herself back on the kitchen chair. “Have you thought about Spike in all of this?” she asked. “What’s his take on it?”

   “He’s fine with it,” Buffy said. “He wants it a secret he’s been with me, ‘cause I’m a good guy.”

   “You sure about that?”

   “Positive,” Buffy said. “Why wouldn’t he be fine with it? He’s evil.”

   “Well….”

   “He doesn’t have a soul, Mom. It’s not like he feels the same way you or I would.” Joyce didn’t say anything to that, though she frowned. Buffy rubbed the tears from her face and took up her cocoa, feeling a little better. “I mean for him it’s all just take, take, me, me, me. That’s what vampires are like. He’s just having fun.”

   “Spike’s not exactly your average vampire, though.”

   “Yeah, that’s why it’s okay. It’s not like I’m with an active murderer. Cordelia says he and Harmony have decided not to kill people, so....”

   “Why?”

   “Cordy said she pulled the best friend card on Harmony, so she started up something called a sucker club? They don’t kill people, they just bite them a little and let them go. Like, people who think it’s okay to be bitten, not random bite muggings or anything. I mean, it’s disgusting, but it’s not lethal.”

   “And... Spike is part of this sucker club now?”

   “Actually, I don’t know,” Buffy said, thinking about it. She’d heard they were all girls. But then— “Yeah,” she said, touching the bite on her arm. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

   Joyce still looked disapproving. “I don’t know, Buffy. This all sounds really complicated.”

   “It is, but... you’re not gonna tell Angel, are you?”

   “It is absolutely not my place to tell Angel, but I think  _you_  should.”

   “Mom, Angel would kill Spike if he found out.”

   “Are you okay with that?”

   Buffy didn’t know what to say. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say no.

   “If you’re okay with that, then you know how you really feel about him,” Joyce said. “If you’re okay with risking Spike’s life… and I guess he was a murderer, and they’re both vampires, so that’s your business, not mine. But that is what you’re doing.”

   It  _was_  what she was doing. And Spike knew that, didn’t he? And… he didn’t care.

   “And as for Spike’s feelings, if you’re right, and he doesn’t have a soul, then I guess it could be okay. But I think it may be more complicated than that.”

   Buffy looked back down into her cocoa. “I know,” she whispered. She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, despite the cocoa. “I just needed a place to shower... to think things out.”

   “Yes, one does need a place to shower after that,” Joyce said with an edge to her voice. She rubbed her face again. “Buffy, I’m not going to lie for you. But I’m not going to go out of my way to tell Angel, either. If he asks me, I’ll tell him the truth. Otherwise... this is your home. It’s always a safe place for you to go, no matter what you’re doing. But I am going to ask for two things.”

   “What?”

   “One. I want your witch friend to come back and do that whole disinvite thing on this house. If Angel does grow angry with you, for this or for whatever, I want you to have a real safe place to come home to.”

   Buffy shrank a little inside. “Okay.”

   “And secondly, I want you to think long and hard about what this means for your relationship with Angel. It’s possible the lack-of-intimacy thing may be too much for your relationship. Or maybe you just need to burn this out of your system for a while, and Angel really is what you need. But what you’re doing with Spike aside, you need to try and sort this out. This can’t go on forever. And won’t, they always find out. Always.”

   “Okay. Th-thank you, Mom. I really love you.” She was feeling teary eyed again.

   “I love you, honey. I don’t approve, but people do stupid things in college. I guess this is yours.”

   “You think this is stupid?”

   “Some part of it is. I’m just not sure which part.” Joyce looked resigned. “You’re the only one who can sort that out.”

      
***

 

   Spike was fast asleep when the soldiers ripped open the door of the boxcar and let in the daylight. “Ow! Bloody hell!” He rolled out of the direct sunlight and into the shadow at the corner of the boxcar.  

   “Confirmed, HST!”

   “Hang on!” Spike yelled, still smoking. “Hold on! It’s me! Finn! Bloody hell, get that —  ahh!”

   The vampire stun gun they’d zapped him with had curtailed any further conversation he might have wanted to have with the boys in camo.

   “Hold on,” said a familiar voice wafting out of the tingling and nausea. “It’s Subject 17.”

   “No kidding,” Spike groaned from his prone position in the ruined nest. “Could’a bloody knocked.”

   “It’s naked,” said one of the soldiers. Gates, Spike thought his name was. “Why is it naked?”

   “You’re the buggers who came in without knocking,” Spike groaned. He rolled into a sitting position. “Give a sleeping operative some privacy, would you?”

   “What are you doing here?” grunted Miller.

   “My job,” Spike grunted back. Spike never worked with Miller much, which was one of the reasons he didn’t loathe him quite as much as he did Finn or Gates. Miller had also never beaten him when he was down, which was more than he could say for the other two. “You tell a bloke to take out a nest of vampires, what do you expect him to do?”

   Miller looked over at Finn. “Did you tell him our mission?”

   “I told him there was a nest here,” Finn said. “I didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it.”

   Miller stood fully up. “You told our only remaining HST operative about an upcoming mission? And sent him off without supervision?”

   “I told you, I didn’t think he’d do anything! I figured he’d mooch about in the sewers or something like he usually does.”

   That was usually where Finn and the others had retrieved Spike from back when they still bothered with retrieval. Miller looked hard at Finn. “Just because Walsh says he’s expendable doesn’t mean he’s to be sent on missions alone.”

   “It wasn’t a mission. He asked if there was anything to do, that’s all.”

   “Did you tell Walsh about this?”

   “It’s in the report, soldier,” Finn said. “I’m not stupid.”

   “What did Walsh say?”

   “She didn’t think he’d do anything, either.”

   “They aren’t very bright,” Gates said.

   Miller sighed “All right. I guess if he did the mission for us, we’d best take him back and debrief him.”

   “He already looks pretty debriefed to me,” Gates said with a brash laugh.

   “Enjoying the show, Molly?” Spike asked with grin and a sensual flutter. That shut Gates up.

   “Get his clothes up,” Finn said. “We’ll have Walsh present when we debrief him. Looks like the others gave him a pretty hard fight.”

   Spike glanced down at his bruises. The slayer had done a good job. Fortunately she hadn’t left any pieces of her own clothing behind to give her away this time.

   He was dragged back to the initiative under the traditional canvas tarp they always hauled him about in. At least it was an improvement from the body bag they had first used for retrieval. From prisoner to addicted operative was a marginal increase in status, wasn’t it?

   He still felt like a prisoner, whatever he was allowed to do. Unless he was with Buffy....

   He let his mind wander back to her passion as the military van drove him back to the Initiative caves. Her scent was still on him under his clothes. His body ached with her hand prints, and her aftertaste still lingered in the back of his throat....

   “Get up,” Finn said after the van stopped. “Quit sleeping.”

   “I’m bloody knackered,” Spike snarled as he yanked off the tarp. “Leave me be.”

   “Time for debriefing,” Gates snapped at him. “Get up and get with the program.”

   “This is your program, mate, not mine,” Spike muttered, but he hoisted himself out of the van and followed Finn and the others to his regular debriefing room. Finn had his blood ready, waiting temptingly in a tray at the side of the room. Spike wasn’t tempted. He still tasted of the slayer.

   Walsh was led in minutes later by Miller, with her faithful science dog Angleman under tow. Angleman immediately stripped Spike of his coat and started drawing blood and running blood pressure tests and all the other things Spike had gotten so used to under the Initiative. He ignored it as he was worked over, and Walsh didn’t seem to care that he might be distracted.

   “Subject 17,” she said, sitting down. “I understand you performed an autonomous mission, under advice from agent Finn. Am I understanding this correctly?”

   Spike considered saying something snarky, but he wasn’t sure it was the best plan. First, he had a needle in his arm right then. Secondly, he was starting to think he might be able to milk this for something. What, he wasn’t sure. But it might be worth the try. After all, they’d already buggered up the chip, at least enough to let him fight the slayer, and they did that just because he’d given them a cheap melodrama. What else might he get if he kept playing the pet?

   “I just wanted to do my bit for the team,” he said. “Use my talents the way they should be.”

   “The way they should be?”

   “Helping out, yeah? Isn’t that what we do here at the Initiative? Hunt the demons to protect humanity?”

   A bright flash made him cringe. He glared at Angleman, who was taking photographs of the bruises on his arms, but he took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm.

   “Why,” Walsh asked, “would you wish to protect humanity?”

   “Dunno,” Spike said. “Getting to be habit, I suppose.”

   “A habit? When you go on your excursions, before we reclaim you. Do you find yourself drawn to humans? Do you have any contacts in Sunnydale?”

   “Did you or did you not hear me the first eight hundred times,” Spike said slowly and patiently. “Any demon finds out about you buggers, and they’ll bloody kill me.”

   “Yes, so you said. So. You haven’t been drawn to humanity at a personal level?”

   “Well, I uh....” An idea struck him. “Sorta. I got a friend. Um. Candy.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to out Cordelia herself.  “She, uh... not a real good friend, but she’s, you know. She’s a good bird.”

   “Is she aware of your status as a vampire?”

   “Um....” What was safest? The truth or a lie? He hedged. “She’s a Sunnydale girl. Vampire attacked her once. She’s keen on anyone who might keep an eye on her at night.”

   “We may have to talk to this Candy,” Walsh said. “Make a note, will you Francis?”

   “Of course, Doctor,” Angleman said, scribbling on his clipboard.

   Spike closed his eyes then as Walsh and Finn and the others started discussing the possible effects of the chip. Buffy. Buffy’s hands and Buffy’s teeth and Buffy’s thighs....

   Finn dropped a bag of blood on Spike’s hands, startling him out of his reverie. It was cold, drugged, and unappealing. “I’ll eat it later,” he said, shoving it in his pocket.

   Everyone stared.

   “Assign him a cell for the rest of the day,” Walsh said. “I want to do a full work up on him. I have to prep the machinery.”

   Spike wasn’t looking forward to what they had planned on doing to him. Blood draws, scans, stress tests, weakness confirmation (which meant extra fun burns with crosses and holy water and sometimes UV rays.) At least that’s what they’d always done to him before.

   What they actually did to him this time was even worse.

   They unleashed Angleman on him, who sat him in a chair in a comfortable room, and started asking questions. “So. How do you feel about humans? What’s your ambition if you were to leave the Initiative? Do you dream? Do you dream about humans? Do you wish to have personal relationships with humans? When you’re fighting another demon, does it occur to you that you’re fighting one of your own kind? What if you were allowed to fight humans? How would that make you feel?”

   It was clear he had a set of questions, but it was also pretty clear they’d thrown this psychological interview together last minute, because there were a lot of questions that repeated themselves, and none of them were remotely personalized. Unless they were trying to trip him up. It was possible they were trying to trip him up.

   Spike tried to adapt to a personality of someone else. He didn’t actually want them knowing sod all about him. After about ten questions, he decided to pretend he was Harmony. He was Harmony, only a bloke, and all his bruises were got by those vampires he fought last night. And the Slayer didn’t exist.

   Once he decided he was Harmony, it became really easy to answer. Personal questions like when and where he’d been turned, “Oh, Sunnydale. Some time last spring.” Questions about his opinions on hunting. “Well, yeah, human tastes good, but not if it’s gonna get me in trouble, you know?” Questions about why he was fighting. “I still have blood lust. I gotta do something with that, you know. And those buggers in the railyard had no fashion sense.”

   It was actually kinda fun, he’d thought. He was enjoying his role, except he really was knackered, he did sometimes slip up, or nearly slip up, and it was hard keeping track of what lies he’d told. Eventually it stopped being fun. Or funny. After a couple hours passed it seemed less like a psychological evaluation and more like an interrogation. Being Harmony palled. And the questions may have been easy to answer, but they got hard to hear. After three hours he needed to abandon the aftertaste of Buffy on his tongue and suck down the cold, congealed drugged bag, because he was getting exhausted, and he was afraid it might be withdrawal. It has hard to tell, though, because just all these questions really were just exhausting in and of themselves.

   “Who were closest to growing up?”

   “As a human or a vampire?”

   “You choose.”

   He didn’t bother. “Me mum.” True for both lives.

   Little note on the clipboard. The question meant nothing to them.

   “Why would you say were closest to them? A, we thought alike, B. she understood me, C. she accepted my choices, D. she educated me well?”

   “Uh... D,” he chose at random. Dru sure did see he was educated as vampire all right.

   “Why weren’t you as close to your other parent?”

   “Uh. He was dead.” He was. Both his human dad and Angelus, if you counted him.

   The questions went on. Vapid, useless, totally unconnected, and yet he felt so drained. Even without telling the truth, the actual answers to the questions entered his head – had to enter his head – meaning he was thinking about things he didn’t usually ever think about.

   “Are we done?” he took to asking every third question.

   “Just about,” Angleman kept saying.

   He wanted to play cooperative, but there was a limit to how much more of this he could take.

   They asked about his personal life. He admitted to no one except Cordelia, and called her Candy the whole time. They asked him about his food preferences. He kept it simple and said blood. They asked him about his fighting history. He said he didn’t remember any before he was turned. On and on and on.

   “And finally, what do you hope to achieve as an Initiative operative?”

   Spike leaned over to look at the clipboard. “What’d you do, take this from your employee interviews?”

   “Just answer the question,” Angleman said.

   Spike looked at him earnestly. “I’d like my freedom.”

   “Okay.” Meant nothing to him. It was like asking a genie whether he wanted to be trapped in a bottle, and ignoring the answer. “And what would you do after you left the Initiative?”

   Kill. Maim. Bite. Slaughter. Torment. Murder. Fuck Buffy a lot.

   “Get me a girlfriend,” he said, that being the only answer they wouldn’t put as him “regressing”.

   Angleman looked up. “Isn’t this Candy already your girlfriend?”

   Spike grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Are we done yet?”

   “I am,” Angleman said. “I’m sure Dr. Walsh is ready for you in the procedure room by now.”

   “Oh, for fucks sake!”

   There had to be an easier way to convince the idiots he was really on their side.

 


	12. Something Bad

WARNING. This gets a little dub-con. So what else is new?

  
  
  


   Buffy was asleep when the body moved across the side of the bed and started kissing her throat. She was glad Angel was back early, though this wasn’t the typical Angel move, and “Oh my god, Spike! What the hell are you doing here?”

   “Oh, shut up, bitch,” Spike breathed into her face. “It’s my turn.”

   He kissed her passionately, his whole body pressing against her, and Buffy realized he was wearing nothing but his jeans. She had dreamed about this, sensual vampire kisses waking her in her own bed. There were times when she would have paid for this, money, pain, extra nights of homework. But of course this wasn’t Angel, it was Spike, which was a no-no, because this was Angel’s home, and Angel could be home any minute. So despite how heart-clenchingly hot this was, she gave Spike less than three seconds before she jabbed her fingernails into his throat and grabbed hold of his adam’s apple, forcing him off her body.

   He groaned as she lifted him. “Ohhh, god!” He panted around her fingers, his throat vibrating with his choked speech. “Just let me have you.”

   “You are having nothing,” Buffy snapped. “You’re going to answer some questions.”

   “Gonna torture me?” He was breathing hard. He reached up and tried to claw her fingers off his throat, but she bore down harder, her nails digging into his flesh. He gave a choked scream. “Yeah, that’s right,” he whispered. “Torture me, slayer, come on, get into it. Do it.”

   That’s exactly what he wanted, she realized. He could expect nothing less half attacking her in her bed like this. The sick vampire was turned on by her hurting him. Just like when he was fighting, he wanted that. Sick. Completely sick. Completely wrong to get off on that kind of sick thing. Really sick. Sick completely. Um-hm. He was sick. She wasn’t sick, because the idea had never occurred to her before. To get off on hurting some half-naked vampire, she wouldn’t ever think about that, because that idea was totally sick.

   She sat up, then dropped him on his back on the bed, holding him down with her hands on his forearms instead of on his throat. Because that wouldn’t be hurting him, and being sick like him. This was just, you know. Holding him.

   He coughed, but didn’t try to fight her off.

   “What are you doing here?”

   “Interrogations deserve chains, slayer.”

   Sick vampire. “Shut up!” She flexed her muscles on his. He relaxed a little. “What are you doing here?”

   “Came to see Angel,” Spike said. “Or you. Was happier to see you.”

   “Why?”

   “Wanted to beat him up,” Spike said. He smiled. “You like me fighting for my mate?”

   “I am not your mate.”

   “Not yet. What if I took him out for you, pet? Would you keep me then? Be more fun than a limp-pricked god complex with a guilty soul, wouldn’t it?”

   Buffy backhanded him. He... did not look unhappy about this.

   “You mad at me, sugar? So sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?” He licked at his lips as his eyes traveled down her body. His hips flexed under her. “Need me on my knees?”

   “Oh, save it,” she snapped, despite the flashback she suddenly had of a silhouetted Spike on his knees before her, making sweet love to her shadow, and then what he did when it wasn’t just shadows. She flung him off the bed in irritation at herself as much as him, and stood up to face him, glaring with her hands on her hips. “You talk, Spike, and don’t jerk me around anymore, what the hell are you doing here?” A thought struck her. “How did you even get in here? I didn’t invite you.”

   Spike’s exhausted look flickered into an amused grin. He looked up at her from the floor, where his boots and coat were tossed about as if he’d just dropped them one at a time as he came up to the bed. “You forget I used to live here. Me and Dru lived in the basement bedroom.”

   Buffy hadn’t forgotten that. Drusilla’s room was all locked up and all her creepy blindfolded dolls were piled haphazardly away, waiting for mice or something. Spike’s old wheelchair was down there, too, and a bunch of other things Buffy hadn’t thought much about after she moved in. But she hadn’t thought it mattered.

    At first when she’d moved into Crawford Street she’d thought about going the whole Martha Stewart route, but Angel reminded her of their distinct lack of money, and also pointed out that they didn’t need to think much about the mansion. When he’d first moved in the place hadn’t had much, but he’d spruced it up quite a bit after he’d come back from hell. It had electricity now (he’d needed a fridge for his blood) and the big front room had kitchen and living room capabilities. Right off the ground floor there was a bedroom for him and a bedroom for Buffy. He had installed a great big bathtub in one of the other side rooms, knocking out one wall, so it was now a luxurious bathroom. Wasn’t that really all they needed?

   She’d reluctantly agreed he was right. It was also marginally closer to the campus than Revello Drive had been. So what if the upstairs rooms were all empty, the basement was sort of locked up, and the gardens, apart from the jasmine night garden, were all overgrown? A full overhaul of the property wasn’t a requirement. Not while she was still in college, right? It was lots better than a shared dorm. She and Angel could do a complete redecoration after she graduated and started thinking about what settling down meant, and what kind of job she’d get besides slaying.

   “Yeah, well,” Buffy said, annoyed at having been reminded of her postponed redecorating dreams. “You don’t live here now. I do.”

   “You have a deed?” Spike asked.

   “Uh....” She hadn’t thought about that. “I’m Angel’s wife. Communal property.”

   “You seen  _him_  with the deed?”

   She hadn’t.

   “This place was abandoned,” Spike said. “Angel killed the title agent and ripped up the records for it. No one owns it, and no one’s going to think about it until someone does an audit on the title company. Probably not even then. This place isn’t Angel’s any more than it’s yours.”

   Buffy felt a chill run up her spine. She’d known Angel had moved in here while he was evil. She’d known it had been abandoned before he’d gotten here. It never occurred to her why no one had thought to kick Angel out of it.

   “You’re squatters, baby,” Spike said. “And squatters don’t get invite rights.”

   “But... water. Electricity....”

   “I’d bet the place has its own well, since the fountain never stopped working,” Spike said. “As for the electrics, that’s not their job. I doubt they care if someone in Sunnydale wants to keep the lights paid. It’s when you don’t pay that electric companies give a damn.”

   “Fine!” Buffy snapped, even more annoyed. The idea that her redecoration had been curtailed just because Angel hadn’t wanted to draw attention to their presence galled her, as did the fact that he’d never mentioned any of this. How could he let her move in when he didn’t even own the place? “Whatever. That still doesn’t give you the right to barge in here and climb into my bed!”

   “What would give me that right?” he asked, his voice smoldering. He stood up, staring at her. “Come on, slayer? What’s it gonna take, huh?” He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a kiss.

   Damn it, he was a good kisser. “Stop it.” She pushed him off.

   He pushed back, dragging her mouth towards his again.

   Fuck. She shoved him off harder. “I said stop it!”

   “Stop me,” he growled, diving for her.

   She fisted him in the solar plexus and he went back. This was downright annoying. Little trills of  _just let him_  were tickling in her chest, and her throat clenched. She was irritated with herself.  _You know, if you keep stopping him, he might just stop,_ whispered a disappointed part of her.  _That’s the idea!_  she insisted, but it still pouted inside at the thought.

   Spike caught himself against the wall before he either hit it or went down. “Come on, slayer,” he whispered, sounding desperate. “Give a dirty secret his props. I got needs too, you know.”

   “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

   “What’s wrong with that? Come on, pet.” He already looked defeated. “You can’t just send me away.”

   “I can do anything,” Buffy said, not wanting to be seduced by his roughness.

   “‘Cept Angel,” Spike said with a snide smirk. He twitched an eyebrow. “That’s what this is all about, innit? The great seducer can’t take the girl to his bed?”

   “That’s no brilliant insight,” Buffy scoffed. “Half the town probably knows that.” It wasn’t until she said it that she realized, yeah, that was probably true. Cordy knew, which meant Harmony probably knew, which meant.... Yeah. Anyone who knew Angel was a vampire was probably also aware the two of them were celibate.

   The idea of everyone knowing her sex life, or lack thereof, did not appeal.

   “But they don’t know about us,” he said smoothly. He stalked back towards her. “They don’t know... about  _you_.” He smiled. “Not like I do.”

   “And what do you know?”

   “I know you,” he said low. “I know your heat. I know your strength. I know your taste. I know your scent. I know–”

   “Stop there.”

   “I know the feel of you. The sounds of you. I know the weight of you. I know–”

   “That this is my house,” she snapped, uneasy, because his stalking really was quite sexy, and he was gorgeous with his shirt off. “Mine and Angel’s.”

   “Angel’s not here,” Spike purred.

   “He could be back any – uh – time....”

   Spike had gotten close to her now, but he did not touch her. He rudely and very pointedly did not touch her. He held out his hand as if he were going to cup her cheek, and did not touch her. His eyes were like gems in the dim light. “Where’d he go?”

   Her skin was screaming for his hand to touch her. “Um... LA. He, uh... he had a... what are you doing?” she asked. He had touched her lapel. She shivered.

   “I like your pajamas,” he said softly.

   She looked down. She didn’t see what was particularly sexy about her yummy sushi jammies, but he was staring at her as if she was in a black lace teddy.

   Oh, screw this. She slapped his gentle, teasing hand away before he could make her tremble any more. “You stop it. I didn’t want you here, and you can’t stay here. Angel could be back any minute and I can’t let your scent get all over— ah!”

   He’d vamped up and bit her. Hard. He pulled away the next second, but when her hand came away there were two drops of blood, and she knew a lot of bruises. “Ow!” She punched him in the nose. He grabbed it with a fanged grimace. “That has got to stop.”

   “What about the rest of it?” he asked, cupping his bruised nose.

   “Not. Here.”

   He looked up. “So… somewhere else then?”

   “Not  _now!_ ”

   He grinned. “That’s the best offer you’ve left me with yet.”

   “Get out of here, Spike. We shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

   He growled. “Fine,” he said, glaring at her with yellow eyes. “Keep your inner sanctum. Excuse me while I go carve CUCKOLD into Angel’s bedstead.” He stormed off.

   Buffy stormed after him. “You wouldn’t do that!”

   He turned around, still walking toward Angel’s room. “Evil,” he said pointedly.

   _“Spike!”_

   It was desperate. If he really was going to tell Angel, if she really couldn’t keep him in check, she really would have to dust him, and she really, really didn’t want to do that. And he knew it. Because he stopped. His bumpies went down and he sagged.

   “I’m tired,” he said quietly. “I’m so... bloody... tired. I’ve had a day, pet. Now I’m gonna go do something evil. It’s either gonna be to you, or him. Pick.”

   “Spike, don’t.”

   “Chain me up and stop me, then,” Spike said. “Beat me. Dust me. Do whatever the bloody hell you want to me. But you can’t send me away.” He sounded exhausted as he added, “I won’t go.”

   They stared at each other for long moments, and Buffy realized he was telling the absolute truth. Whatever else she did to him, he wasn’t going to leave. Finally he turned away to head back to Angel’s room. She sighed, strode forward, and karate chopped him on the back of the neck.

   He didn’t pass out, but he very sweetly pretended to as she dragged him to the wall sconce which was well accustomed to this sort of thing. She could tell he was conscious from the way he moved as she dragged him. She had to think where the chains were, and left him there while she went to get them. She came back to find him leaning against the wall with his smirk back on, but he quickly pretended to be unconscious again as she locked the manacles around his wrists and looped the chain from the sconce. Then she crouched down. “All right, possum, quit playing.” He opened his eyes

   “There,” Spike said evenly. “How’s that for a compromise? Now if Angel comes back you can say you were just being mean to me.”

   “Who was the one being mean?” Buffy asked. “You’re the one threatening my marriage.”

   “I think that’s actually you, love. I’m just along for the ride.”

   She didn’t respond to that. “What’s up?” she said instead. “What the hell are you doing here?”

   “Where is Angel?” Spike asked. “Why isn’t he in bed with you, basking in your scent like any reasonable husband would be?” He glanced down her form in her yummy sushi pajamas. “That’s where I’d be.”

   “You’d be out killing someone, and we both know it.”

   “Not these days. And we were talking about Angel.”

   “That’s not–”

   “You don’t even have the same bedroom,” he said, indicating Angel’s room with his chin. “What’s up? He get bored with you, too?”

   “We love each other,” Buffy said to him earnestly. “Look, I know it’s weird. It’s just that it’s difficult to get close to me when we can’t... you know.”

   “Fuck?”

   Buffy felt herself blushing. “Uh... yeah. But we adapt, okay?”

   “Yeah, I’ve seen how you adapt,” Spike said with a knowing eyebrow. “You sure he’s not just bored?” he pressed. “He gets bored.”

   “Oh, shut up.”

   “No, he does. Sometimes it takes him a year or two, but he gets bored.”

   “Spike,” Buffy sighed. “Stop it. Just stop it. I love Angel, he loves me, and that’s all there is to it. He’s not the same as the demon you know. You never knew him with his soul.”

   “Sure I did,” Spike said. “We hung out some. He’s not so different. He’s petulant. Still thinks he’s right all the time, still likes to pretend he’s in charge....”

   “Angel wouldn’t just get bored with someone he loved.”

   “He did with Darla. Did with Dru. Did with a bunch of other victims.”

   “Not with his soul!” Buffy said. “Without his soul, that wasn’t true love.”

   “Oh, and it is with you, then?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Uh-huh,” Spike said, looking tired again. “You tell yourself that, pet. You go right ahead.”

   It was clear he just didn’t feel like arguing it. Buffy still did. The idea that Angel would get bored with her hit hard. It wasn’t  _her_  fault she couldn’t please him. “He’s different with his soul. He’s good.”

   “Is he, now?”

   “He is. He helps people. He’s a champion. That’s what Doyle says.”

   “Doyle being?”

   “A... friend. He has visions. He says Angel’s a champion.”

   “Wasn’t that supposed to be  _your_  job?” Spike asked, echoing Buffy’s own thoughts. But she answered with what she answered herself with.

   “It all started with me,” she said. “He’s been selected to help the helpless. And he’d never hurt anyone innocent.”

   “Never? You...” He stared at her. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

   “Of course I do.”

   “He’s a vampire, pet, just like me. He kills. He fights. He drinks blood. He just feels kinda bad about it sometimes.”

   “He’s never touched human blood. Not since he got his soul. Except for...” she indicated the mansion around them. “You know. When he lost it.”

   Spike blinked. “You want the number of people he’s killed with it? I lost track somewhere during the Boxer Rebellion. But there was that guy he turned back in the forties. I know there were others. Has Angel really been feeding you this tripe?”

   “God, Spike, you’re such a liar.”

   “I don’t lie about Angel,” Spike snapped. “I don’t bloody need to.”

   “Stop talking smack about my husband!”

   “Stop pretending Angel’s some damn angel!”

   “He is!”

   “You’re an idiot!”

   “Shut up!”

   “Make me!”

   Buffy slapped him.

   Spike relaxed a little and leaned against the wall. “That’s a good girl,” he said softly. “Do it again.”

   Buffy felt uncomfortable. That shouldn’t have made her feel good. “No.”

   He glared. “God, you got this sadist thing down.” He shook his head. “And I thought  _I_ knew the game.”

   “You just wanted me to hit you?”

   Spike’s eyebrow went up. “Want you to do a lot more than that, but that’s a good start.”

   Buffy sat back and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why?”

   Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, if you’re gonna be all philosophical about it. Way to ruin the ride.”

   “Spike—”

   “Gets the blood up, right?” he explained. “Sex and pain and love and death, it’s all different sides of the same die.” He smiled a little. “Bite, hurt, kill, die, win, lose. Least we’re playing the game.”

    Buffy reached up and tugged at his chains. They were no lie. He was firmly chained up by her. “What does this roll mean?” she asked.

   “That I’d better ante up a bit more, or risk it all.”

   The game intrigued her. Maybe it wasn’t just sick vampire being sick, but something deeper, something… powerful maybe. He’d just sat back and let her chain him, and she’d known he was faking when she up and did it. Did that mean she was a sick vampire-slayer, too?

   Being sick sounded better than being… whatever she was that totally wasn’t sick. At least Spike really knew what he wanted. Which was more than she could say for herself these days….

   “What are you offering?” she asked.

   Spike’s eyes dilated. “Is this a wager?”

   Buffy had looked at the clock. It was nearly sunrise. If Angel hadn’t come back already, it wasn’t likely he was going to today. Gem of Amara he might have had, but he still didn’t seem to like traveling in the day much. Buffy suspected it hurt his eyes after two hundred years of darkness, though he’d never said. There was a slight chance he might sneak in just at sunrise, but if he caught her with Spike chained up, there was no mistaking the relationship for anything but antagonistic. Which meant.... “What do you want?”

   Spike’s breath caught. “Angel still got any whips?”

   “I... don’t know.”

   “Use the phone cord,” Spike whispered.

   She gasped. Could she? Could she really? Could she just get something and whip someone as they were asking her to? Could she stare at his pale, muscular back and beat at it?

   And then she thought of Angel doing his Tai-Chi in the garden, and the idea of hitting him with a whip while he did it made her heart flutter. But Angel would never just stand for that.

   Spike would.

   Buffy regarded him for a long time. And then, dreamlike, she found herself standing up to go to the phone. Maybe she was only going to call Angel? Tell him she missed him, that she wished he’d come home. It was old, Angel’s phone. A rotary. He’d gotten cell phones for both himself and Buffy for her nineteenth birthday, because of Doyle calling him to LA, but he barely knew how to use his. The rotary phone, though, that he adored. She studied it. The coiled receiver cord was tight and soft looking. She placed her hand on the heavy receiver for a moment.  _Just pick it up. Dial Angel’s cell number. Tell him. Tell him you miss him. Tell him Spike’s here. Tell him…._

   She unhooked the straight cord from the wall and the base of the phone.

   She brought it back to Spike. It was about six feet long, and fairly stiff.

   Spike had stood up when she left. “Fold it in half twice,” Spike said. “Hold on to the ends, and use the folded side as a whip.”

   Buffy folded the cord as he’d told her, and he smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Go to it.”

   She stood there with her mouth open.

   Spike actually laughed. “Okay, I’ll turn around,” he said. “Try to get a feel for it, and just go.”

   “What if I hurt you?” Buffy asked.

   “That’s the idea,” Spike said, giddy. He turned around.

   “Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of safety word?” she asked. Angel had said something about that, back when they had that whole thing with Faith. She didn’t really understand how such things worked. She’d always just assumed it was something that sick people did when they were sick or evil or something.

    _Which tells you what about yourself?_  her brain whispered.

   “You expect a safe word?”

   “Aren’t we supposed to have one?”

   “We aren’t  _supposed_  to be doing this at all.”    

   Buffy didn’t know what to say, at first. He was absolutely right. “I guess what we’re doing isn’t safe, then.”

   “No,” he said. “But we already knew that.”

   What was she doing? She had chained up Spike and was about to whip him for some kinky deviant high? She reached up to unchain him.

   “What are you doing?”

   “I can’t do this,” she said. She unscrewed the manacle and let his hand fall. “You need to go, I can’t do—”

   His freed hand grabbed hold of her throat. “You bottling out, slayer mine?” he said through newly fanged teeth. “You think you’re too pure and unsullied to torture the monster, huh?”

   “Let go—” she tried to say, but he wasn’t kidding about that hand. Fear spiked inside her, and she lashed out with the phone cord, slashing sideways at his shoulder, once, twice, three times, and his grip loosened, and she found herself free.

   She was angry. “I can’t believe you did that!”   

   “There,” he said. “Now you’re getting it.”

   “Oh!” She whacked him again in irritation.  

   “Ooh....” He leaned his arm against the wall and rested his head on it. “Go on, then. Get into it.”

   She was annoyed enough she whacked him a few more times just to vent her own frustration, but his reaction was... interesting. She expected anyone she was hurting to be tensing up, trying to fight her off, enduring the pain, but Spike was actually relaxing beneath her as if she were giving him a loving massage. She had about three curls of phone cord, and they left white, white lines on his pale flesh, showing up stark around the piercing on his back, between his shoulder blades. Strange place for a piercing. She whipped around it, making a little diamond of marks on his flesh.  

   Now that she’d started, it felt almost strange to stop. The cords whistled as she flipped them,  _whistle, smack, whistle, smack_. She started to go rhythmically,  _smack, smack_ , pause,  _smack, smack._  It was kind of fun. A bit like going at a punching bag, only he was moaning in something that wasn’t entirely pain.

   She experimented and hit him really hard.

   “Ow!”

   She kind of liked the sound of that.

   “Ow!  _Oh!_ ”

   “Too hard?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Good.”

   “ _OW!_ ”

   She laughed suddenly and found herself hugging him from behind, her face up against his new welts. They felt hot, compared to the usual coolness of him. She wondered if it was just friction, or the demonic energies trying to heal him up.

   He sighed. “Oh, that’s worth it. Ow!” he added as she pulled away to whip at him again.

   She was really getting into it now,  _whip, whip, whip_ , again and again, hitting different spots, painting on his back, white on white, and the welts slightly raised. His relaxed moans had gotten louder now, more desperate, and... okay, those were definitely yells, but he kept his hand against the wall and didn’t try to stop her as she whipped him and whipped him and whipped him.

   “Buffy!” he yelled. “Buffy, all right, Buffy!”

   He didn’t seem to be talking to her.

   She stopped anyway.

   He sagged down to his knees when she did, and the chain slipped on the wall sconce. She  wondered if she’d gone too far –  _probably should have asked yourself that before, girl_ – and she went to undo his other manacle. “Spike?” she asked, wrestling with the screw. “Spike, you okay? Are you—”

   Spike shifted and Buffy found herself pressed against the wall, his hand on her throat again. At first she thought he was going to attack her, and maybe he thought so too, since the heat in his eyes looked positively deadly. But the strength around her throat eased as suddenly he was kissing her, intense, passionate kisses, his mouth invading hers, forcing her. He was trembling as he kissed her, little gasps of the breaths he didn’t need coming out shaky and desperate. She was smothered by him, drowning in him, his body was all over hers, his hands reaching under her pajamas, the buttons popping open.

   Oh god. Angel might be home any minute. She dragged her mouth away from his, desperately catching air. “Not here.”

   “Now,” he insisted.

   “Not here!” She grabbed his arms and forced him off her.

   He growled low in his throat and gave her a compromise. “Your bed or Angel’s?”

   Buffy’s groin clenched at the thought. They couldn’t leave. The sun was basically up now, which meant Angel likely wasn’t going to come bursting through the door, but he _could,_  and even if he didn’t the scent... Spike’s scent was one thing, but Spike’s scent with the scent of  _sex_ was another, and....

   “Downstairs,” she said. The word came like a gift. There was a perfect room downstairs.

   Spike’s eyes flashed. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He sat up and grabbed her, and then dragged her by one arm, and Buffy found herself going with him as he hauled her through Angel’s living room, down the cement basement stairs, and then to the room which had been locked since just after Angel came back from hell.

   Spike didn’t bother unlocking it. With Buffy still towed behind him he plunged like a whirlwind through the darkness and kicked the door open. The area around the lock splintered. This basement room had only a small slitlike window near the ceiling, frosted and safe for a vampire. Drusilla’s dolls were eerie shadows in the gray, inadequate light. Spike whirled Buffy around and into his arms, kissing her fiercely, and then had her down on the dusty velvet bedspread, already grinding into her, pushing his body over hers as if he could make their clothing melt.

   The power of him was electric, and Buffy scrabbled at his jeans, sliding up and out of her own pajama bottoms, and the top – ah, the buttons were already undone. Or missing now.

   Buffy reached for his jeans and pushed them down, her hands grabbing for his round, muscular ass. She heard something start to rip, and she wriggled out from underneath him, leaving her pajama pants trapped by his knees. He scrambled after her, and she felt him hard and fierce against her, and she scratched her nails down his welts. He screamed and writhed against her, and then he was inside her, and he groaned, filling full inside, his arms clenching around her. He grunted out his release so quickly she felt positively cheated.

   “Hey,” she whimpered.

   “Oh, pouty,” he gasped, looking down at her in the grey light. “Whoever said that meant I was done?” He reached for her lip with his teeth, biting at her a little before he sat up. He kicked his jeans completely off, and pulled her clothes away, leaving her pajamas on the ground.

   “Still wasn’t fair,” she whimpered. She was wet and hungry and she wanted the feeling of him thrusting away inside her, the way Angel never could.

   Spike kissed her, pressing her back against the pillows on the bed. “What do you want?” he whispered into her mouth. “You want my mouth? My hand?”

   “I wanted  _you_.”

   “Give me a minute,” Spike said. He kissed her. “You’re the one who whipped me out of shape.” He kissed her nose. “And you liked it, too.”

   “Oh, god,” she whispered to herself. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m sick. I’m just sick.” And instead of pulling away, she kissed him instead, because she was utterly sick, and she couldn’t seem to stop.

   “Mm,” Spike said, humming into her mouth. “Oh, yes, you are. Fun, isn’t it?” He chuckled happily and then said, “Now there was something I think I noticed.” He reached his hand down onto her newly smooth pussy. “I did notice something. Well, well. Now,” he said, massaging her smooth skin, and god, did it feel good. She was right. Shaving made a whole new set of sensations. “Did someone make some naughty decision against  _never, never again_  well before I showed up in her bed?”

   “What I want to know,” Buffy whispered, fighting against her body, which wanted to push up against his like a cat in heat, “is why someone made a suicidal decision to come hunting me down in the bed I share with Angel.”

   “You two—”

   “Same house,” Buffy interrupted. “Wedding vow, same diff. And you’re the one who said you wanted to find Angel.” She flipped over and held Spike down on the bed again. She was getting really good at this holding Spike down thing. He struggled, but she had him pinned. “Why?” she whispered. She shifted and held her knee against his balls, ready to put her whole weight on them. He gasped. “Why?”

   Spike didn’t know what to tell her. Because he’d spent all day and half the night answering questions about himself? Because even though the answers had been lies, the truth had walked proudly and painfully through his head? Because all of those truths did nothing but make him feel sorry for himself, and he’d wanted some kind of outer pain to take that inner pain away? Because along with making him hate his life, it reminded him how much he hated Angel and his arrogance and his superiority and the way he always got everything to himself, Drusilla and Buffy and forgiveness and everything else he wanted, and it didn’t matter how many people he had betrayed, both good and bad, Angel always seemed to win?

   Because he wanted to either take Buffy away from him, or die trying?

   He hadn’t expected to find her alone. It had been pure magic to just take his clothes off and slide into bed beside her, even though he’d expected her to kill him the moment she woke. Such sweet risk. It had made him hard just touching her. He simply couldn’t have left when she told him to, it would have felt like cutting off an arm. He had so little to live for these days, Buffy was like life itself, as if she started his heart beating again.

   Stupid heart.

   When she’d chained him up he rather expected she’d just leave him there. But then she got all heady and curious and whippy, and he was completely lost. Then telling him to go to Dru’s bed, good god. It was no wonder he’d spurted early. Which was a real shame, because he wanted to bury his nose in that smooth, smooth little pussy.

   And she didn’t seem about to let him go to let him.

   “What do you want me to say?” he said up to her. “Do you want it to be about me, or about him? What about you?” He searched her face. “What do you want from me, Buffy?” he asked. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Tell me who you want me to be, and I’ll be it.”

   There was a heavy silence. “You can never be who I want.”

   Then she rolled off him, curling in a sitting position in the middle of the opulent bed. She was bare and revealed, but she herself seemed completely closed off.

   “Then don’t want me,” he said to her back.

   She looked up. “What...?”

   “Don’t want me,” he said, venom in his tone. He pushed her back down on the bed, and wrestled her left arm up above her head, where — ah, yes, still there. Of course it was. This was Drusilla’s bed. The chains on the bedpost were still under the pillow. Spike yanked it down, and Buffy yelled, squirming strong underneath him, fighting him hard. She was stronger than him, and he’d known that. Before she had a chance to force him off he sat up. “Slayer mine, you know I’d have to kill you quick to keep you from fighting me off,” he said. “Unless you fake it, this won’t be any fun.”

   Buffy scrambled up and away from him, scooching over on the bed away from the chain he was holding. “Fun?”

   “Yeah. Fun. Come on, I let you.” He shook the chain invitingly.

   “I don’t trust you!”

   “Then you should have killed me years ago,” Spike said honestly. She blinked, and he shook the chain again. “Come on, love. Live dangerously.”

   For a long, long moment she only stared at him. Then he made a movement. Very, very slowly he reached out with the manacle. And to his surprise and delight, she actually let him.

   “You’ll let me go, after?” she asked as he screwed the manacle on.

   “What do you think I’m going to do?” Spike asked, hoarsening his voice for her. “Bite you hard and drain you dry for Angel to find? Torture you horribly until he comes down and dusts me? Fuck you senseless?” He grinned evilly. “I haven’t killed you yet.”

   She held her other arm out of his reach. “I’ve been able to fight you.”

   “Then fight me,” he said. “Just lose.” He vamped up and growled at her, leaping for her other arm. She yelled again, lashing out with it, and put her hand around his throat.

   “No!” she panted up at him. “No, I get one arm free.”

   “Fair enough.” He grabbed it and forced it down on the bed. The chain clanked as she writhed, clocking him in the side of the head with her bound hand, but he could handle that. He growled as he dove for her throat with his fangs, but he didn’t bite down. That tended to tick her off more than he wanted to deal with just then. He licked at the two tiny puncture marks he’d made earlier — just the faintest taste of her blood, a sprinkling of sugar — and then he caressed her gently with his fangs, sliding down her throat, her collar bone, her breasts, leaving thin red lines of unbroken but firmly marked flesh behind.

   She moaned and relaxed under him, but he looked up. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

   “I... I don’t,” she gasped as he bent over her.

   “Then don’t want me.” He growled again and dove down below the reach of her free hand, and buried his nose in her smooth little pussy.

   Oh, it was like heaven. Not that he minded a pussy with a bit of fur, but the smooth skin was purely sensual, and his tongue and lips were unimpeded as he licked at her. She was sweet and sour and fragrant and everything he’d been longing for. He kissed and kissed and kissed at her nether lips, pushing his vampire teeth up against the flesh, but never biting down on it. Things often tasted stronger when he was vamped up. Fuller, more aromatic. Maybe it was just the correlation. When he was vamped up, he was surely feeding.

   Buffy was actually fighting him, but her body couldn’t reach down to his level, and she didn’t try scooching up and away from him. By that he knew she wasn’t fighting for real. Anyone who was really fighting used every opening he’d give them. But it was fun wrestling her legs back down, feeling her hand pulling at his hair as he licked at her, hearing her as she grunted. Finally her yelling softened to whimpers, her strength around his body faded, and the only movement she was making was as she pushed her pelvis up against him, rubbing that smooth little pussy against his mouth and nose. It was a different kind of fight now, as she fought for pleasure. He stopped wrestling with her leg and reached up to caress her inside, sliding two fingers into her, slipping in and out, in and out. Her whimper turned to a moan.

   “There now,” he whispered. He looked up at her and let his fangs go down. “Do you want me?”

   “No,” she said, her voice small.

   He licked at her again. “Am I what you want?”

   “Never,” she whispered.

   “I’m not gonna give it to you less you say you want it,” he warned.

   “Never,” she said, more firmly now, and started fighting again.

   Spike slipped his pinky into her ass. He’d already made her slick enough it had slid down, so it wasn’t hard to do.

   Buffy froze. “That’s my butthole,” she said suddenly, tensing around him.

   “Yes, it is,” Spike said looking up at her. He flexed his arm to drive deeper inside her, and she started. “Like it?”

   “I....”

   “Don’t lie,” he said firmly.

   “I don’t know yet,” she said, sounding a little hesitant.

   Spike laughed. It was so cute! She was such an innocent. “Oh, god, what do I do with you?” He shook his head. “What am I doing with you?” He was dangerously close to saying something he didn’t want to say. He dove back to her clit again to fill his mouth up.

   “Oh, god!” Buffy gasped above him. “Okay. Oh, god. Oh, fuck!”

   Spike started paying more attention to his hand. She deserved to be fucked proper, and hey, this was her virginity too, in a way, wasn’t it? Of one spot, anyway. He shifted his wrist and tensed his arm, making sure she could feel him deep inside. Gently he slid his ring finger down to join his pinky.

   “Oh, god!” Buffy said again, but she didn’t tense up this time. Instead her head went back, and she went very quiet, except for her rhythmic panting.

   “Yeah,” Spike whispered.

   Oh, this was delightful. He had her literally in the palm of his hand. He fucked her steadily with it, and a rhythmic moan started joining her breathing. “Nn. Nn. Ngh.”

   He stopped. “Say you want me,” he said up to her.

   “Yes, fuck you!” Buffy whimpered, and he went back to fucking her.

   “Good girl,” he said low.

   “Yes,” she whispered, as if saying it had opened a dam. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, oh god! Spike! Ahh!”

   There. Now he had her.

   “Yes!” she yelled as she came. “Yes, yes! Ah!”

   He held his hand firmly inside her as she clenched up around him, and then he slid away as she relaxed.

   “That’s my girl,” he said, and he climbed up her. “Glad you know what you want.”

   “I hate you,” she whispered, looking exhausted. “Unchain me.”

   “Not done yet,” he said. “On your knees.”

   “I....”

   “Come on, you liked it,” Spike whispered. “Feel it for real.”

   Buffy stared at the ceiling, biting at her lip, but otherwise limp. She couldn’t decide. Finally Spike flipped her gently onto her stomach, and she let him, the chain around her left wrist clinking.

   “Oh, god,” she whispered as he slipped his fingers back down to her anus again. He lifted her hips until she was on her elbows and knees, and she gasped. He grinned. He was scaring her.

   “Hey, it’s not so bad,” Spike whispered. “Here. I’ll be nice.” He arched over Buffy and pulled open the bedside table. “Still there.”

   “What’s that?” Buffy asked as he pulled out a clear plastic bottle.

   “Baby oil. No, not from babies,” he said at her look. “Dru liked to hurt, but she also liked a good rub down after. Here.” He poured some on his fingers and caressed her anus, working first one, and then two fingers inside.

   She was actually letting him do this. He was almost shocked about it. He kept closing his eyes and opening them, expecting to find he was back in the Initiative, hallucinating or something on some extra drugged blood, or with the chip firing his head into agony and he’d gone here to escape the pain. But no, she kept being there, kept being Buffy, kept letting him work his fingers deeper and deeper inside her until she was pliant and open and he was able to put his again screaming hard cock up against and then inside her, and oh, fuck, bugger fuck, god she was tight.

   “Oh, wow,” Buffy said, and the innocence of the phrase nearly made him come too early again. He held it back and went still, holding on to her hips, and when and only when he thought he had control of himself did he start to move.

   “Oh, god, slayer,” he whispered. “Oh, slayer I l— I lo—” He made himself hold the word back. “Buffy,” he said instead. “Buffy, fuck.”

   “Yeah,” she said, still sounding more intrigued than orgasmic. “Mm. That’s really... ooh.”

   Powerful. Intimate. Amazing. Glorious. His damn poet’s brain went to work finding descriptors.

   “Yeah,” he grunted. “Ooh. Oh,” he added. “Oh, fuck.” He couldn’t hold it back much longer. He gripped her around the hips and moaned low as he spurted inside her, leaving him drained and bewildered afterwards, as if she’d cast some kind of spell.

   How the fuck had she let him do that?

   He collapsed backwards on the bed, and Buffy turned to look at him over her shoulder. She reached up and unscrewed her manacle, slowly and deliberately. “That was interesting,” she said.

   “That’s it?” Spike panted, gasping for air he didn’t need, but his body automatically sought anyway. “Interesting?”

   “Very interesting. And now you should go.”

   “Go?” Now Spike was genuinely shocked. He could barely move. “I can’t. Sun’s out.”

   “And you know Angel chose this place because there’s sewer access,” Buffy said. “Angel has the ring of Amara. He doesn’t like driving in the sun, but he could. I want time to clean up.”

   “Buffy—”

   “Go,” she said. “I need to think.”

   “I—”    

   “This isn’t right,” she said, without any of the venom she usually had about it.

   “Sure it is,” Spike said, leaning up on his elbow. “If you’re enjoying it—”

   “I shouldn’t be,” Buffy said. “Chains, whips, whatever that just was, which I think is illegal.”

   Spike opened his mouth, stunned. “You liked it,” he said, after a moment of gaping like a fish.

   “But I shouldn’t,” Buffy said. “And I need to think about it. So you go.”

   Spike scoffed. “What the hell is with you?” he muttered. He stood up and yanked his jeans from the floor. “The second you start to like something, you throw it away?”

   “When I start to like something bad,” Buffy said. “Yeah. And you’re bad. You’re not just bad, you’re bad  _for_  me. You’re doing things to me.”

   “Things you’ve been bloody craving, and don’t pretend otherwise.”

   “Yeah, but that’s not right. I don’t think it is.”

   She really was an innocent. He didn’t know how to explain to her that right and wrong didn’t matter, so long as it felt good. Because of course she knew he was evil, and she’d throw it back in his face.

   “Just go, okay? I don’t want you here anymore.”

   “I thought we’d gone over that.”

   Buffy sat up wearily. “You know where the sewer access is.” She strode out of the room naked, and returned a few minutes later with his clothes. She shoved them into his hands. “Get out, or I’m getting my stake.”

   She looked immensely powerful, flushed from pleasure, naked and defenseless, and completely sure of herself regardless. Spike was struck again with the desire to fall to his knees before her.

   And he was also incredibly pissed off at her throwing this all away.

   “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get out. But next time—”

   “There isn’t—”

   “Yes, there is,” Spike said, not even letting her finish. “Next time, I won’t play so nice. Then you’ll know how bad I really am.” He flipped his coat over his shoulder and stalked away.

 


	13. Nothing Easy

   After Spike left, Buffy shut away Dru’s bedroom, trusting in the fact that Angel never went there. She had to dig out the wood glue and glue the area around the lock back together, but she thought he wouldn’t notice. Then she set about cleaning away any trace of Spike. First and foremost, she put him out of her head. Every time she found her thoughts drifting back to Spike she told herself,  _No. Not yet._  She had to get everything tidied away first, not the least of which her own emotions.

   She showered, briskly and efficiently, cleaning every inch of herself, including inside. She also washed the phone cord before returning it to the phone. She put the chains away in their trunk, and changed the sheets, blankets, and pillowcases on the bed, setting them all in to wash. Not to mention her yummy sushi pajamas. Then she put Spike away in her head, reminding herself,  _No. Not yet._  Her heart was still thumping every time Spike tried to escape into her thoughts.

   She sprayed disinfectant air freshener everywhere she thought Spike had been, and then everywhere else to confuse the scent. Then she lit ten sticks of incense, enough that the room looked smokey as a cheap bar. She did everything she could to remove or wash away or cover up every drop of Spike’s scent which might have lingered. She only wished she could smoke him out of her brain for a while, because he kept trying to escape the little room she’d put him inside of.  _No. Not yet._

   There was one more thing she had to clean up, and hopefully before Angel came home to a suspicious house. She went to the college. It was time to sort that disinvite out with Willow.

   Not that she couldn’t do a disinvite herself — she’d done it for Angel once, with Giles’s help and Willow’s assistance — but Willow was frankly more powerful when it came to magic. The question was, how was she going to ask her? She didn’t want to tell the truth.

   Willow had a class that morning, so Buffy waited in the dorm lounge until her friend came in. To Buffy’s surprise, Willow was with another girl Buffy didn’t recognize, a dark blonde in a flowing skirt. When they first came in the two were laughing and talking, but the moment Buffy waved hello and called out to Willow, Willow went sort of pale and freckley, and the blonde girl seemed to shrink down to half her original size.

   Buffy came up to them. “Hey,” she introduced herself to the girl. “I’m Buffy, Willow’s friend.”

   “Um,” the girl murmured, and said something Buffy couldn’t catch, despite her better than average slayer hearing.

   “Excuse me?”

   “This is, um, Tara,” Willow said, looking as if someone had just caught her with her hand in a cookie jar. “Tara is, um, in the Wicca club. We were just talking, you know... witchy stuff.”

   “You’re another witch?” Buffy asked. “That’s awesome.”

   “Is this okay?” Tara asked quietly. “She knows?”

   “Of course she knows, most of my spells go to help Buffy. Buffy kills demons in her spare time.”

   Tara looked even more nervous at this, and took a chart which seemed to have the phases of the moon on it and handed it to Willow. “Anyway, here’s the herb calendar,” she said. “I... I really should be heading to the library. I... have a-a class to-to study for.”

   “Well, I’ll still see you tonight?” Willow sounded worried.

   Relief washed Tara’s face. “Yeah,” she said. “I have something, um, special planned. To study.”

   The smile that graced Willow’s face was nervous and genuine and Buffy hadn’t seen it since the last time Willow still had her crush on Xander. Her eyes traveled between the two girls as Tara scuttled off, and Willow watched her scuttle until she turned the corner.

   “Okay, you two have a secret,” Buffy said frankly. “What is it?”

   “Not here!” Willow hissed.

   Buffy, who had been expecting Willow to gush about an extra credit project or something, was surprised. This secret was big enough it couldn’t be mentioned in the dorm lobby? Apparently not, as Willow grabbed both of Buffy’s hands and dragged her over to her dorm room. She seemed unusually agitated, filing away her books, putting the chart Tara had given her on a prominent place on the bulletin board, randomly picking lint off the bedspread.

   “So what’s the secret project?” Buffy asked.

   “It’s just magic stuff. Tara was trained by her mom, so she knows some things that I couldn’t find in books. But I’ve done more book reading, so we’re sharing knowledge. It’s... it’s been really fun.”

   “I thought the Wicca Club was all a bunch of wanna-blessed-bes.”

   “Most of them are, but Tara found me when those Gentlemen made everyone stop talking last month. She thought a spell might, um… help with them.”

   “We didn’t use a spell. Angel and I slaughtered them when they were parading the town, remember?” The sounds had come back when they’d tracked the last one and he knocked over some box that screamed. “No spellwork needed.”

   “But while you and Angel were doing that, Tara came and found me, knowing I was a real witch. And we met up again after. Because we… figured out we... um... sort of work well together. ”

   “That’s great.”

   “Really well together,” Willow said.

   “That’s really great.”

   “Like amazingly well together,” Willow pressed.

   Buffy blinked. “And isn’t that amazingly great?”

   Willow sagged, and then held her hand to her head for a moment, then flopped down into her bed. “Bless me, slayer,” she said. “For I have sinned.”

   “You’re Jewish, and I’m not a priest,” Buffy pointed out. “What did you sin about?”

   “I’m thinking impure thoughts.”

   “About magic?”

   “About Tara.”

   “Oh.”

   Buffy was surprised for a second, and let that idea sink in. It knocked on the door where she’d locked up her Spike thoughts, and she set it in a room next door, though she left the Willow thought door open. Two weeks ago she’d have been more surprised. Two months ago she would have been shocked that Willow could see past Oz to have impure thoughts about anyone at all. Now with herself shacking up with a soulless vampire, the idea of Willow having impure thoughts about a pretty little witch who seemed to share a lot of the same interests as Willow didn’t seem so far fetched.

   The Spike thoughts rattled at the thought door. She pointedly ignored them.

   “Is Tara sharing in these impure thoughts?” Buffy asked.

   “Tara’s a lesbian,” Willow said decisively. “Okay? She’s very open about it, and everyone can just deal.”

   “I don’t mind her being a lesbian,” Buffy said.

   “You don’t?” It sounded more hopeful than Buffy had expected.

   “No.”

   “So you’re okay with... with that.”

   “With lesbians? Sure.”

   “Even if....”

   “You’re having impure thoughts,” Buffy said. “That’s….” She wanted to be wigged out, but she’d used up all her wig on Spike. Willow being kinda gay? Okay. Whatever. Instead of getting wigged she sat down on the bed beside Willow. “Do you think  _you_ might be lesbian?”

   “I don’t know!” Willow almost wailed. “I don’t know! I’m... excited and eager and I love to hug her, and some of the things we’ve done... the magic things... they felt like magic.”

   “Well... they would.”

   “No. They felt like we were making magic. Not just the spell we were doing, just... magic. Even when the spells failed. Magic.”

   “And you want to explore that further,” Buffy murmured.

   “But it’s complicated, because there’s Oz,” Willow said. “There’s Oz, and he loves me, and I love him, and I can’t hurt him like that again, you know? But I’m not cheating. We haven’t done anything, me and Tara. Not really. I mean a hug, a kiss on the cheek, those aren’t like what happened with Xander that hurt him so much.”

   “And it’s not like what Oz did with Veruca, either,” Buffy reminded her. “Which hurt you so much.”

   Willow was dead silent so long that Buffy had to fill in the blank. “And you’re thinking about maybe if it is the same thing. Or could be.”

   “I love Oz,” Willow said. “I love him. I can’t do to him what he did to me, that’s, like, insane, it would be so cruel.”

   “But you find yourself interested in a... magical... way, in a girl you know is a lesbian, and you like to, um... hug.”

   And to Buffy’s surprise, Willow’s eyes filled with tears. “I really, really am,” she confessed. “I don’t know what to do, I can’t leave Oz, I love him. But it’s been so awkward lately, and he hurt me so badly. And Tara has been so open and accepting and we share the same magic and it’s... it’s....” She sniffled. “I don’t want to let that go. But how can I do the same thing to him that he did to me? I....”

   “Don’t,” Buffy said decisively. Her own guilt was like a stone round her neck. She didn’t want that for Willow. “Don’t do the same thing, don’t do it. Talk to Oz about it, right now. Before it gets any bigger and takes over your whole life.”

   “You think I should leave Tara,” Willow said. “Even as a friend.”

   “I didn’t say that,” Buffy said. “I just think you should tell your boyfriend, who understands wanting two people at once, and see what happens.”

   “But he gets jealous,” Willow said. “We saw that with Xander, he gets jealous and hurt and—”

   “And that was before Veruca. And he might have a very different opinion of you being interested in another woman than he would of you being interested in another man,” she pointed out.

   “You really think I should tell Oz?”

   “Gently. But yes, I think you should. Tell him you haven’t done anything yet, but the desire is there for... maybe more than... hugs.”

   “And kisses.”

   “On the cheek.”

   “And the neck,” Willow said. “And the hand and palm and the wrist and... the inside of the elbow, and... um.”

   “Yeah, you should tell him before  _um_  gets any further up your sleeve,” Buffy said.

   “We were doing magic. Lots of, um… palm kisses and stuff. Sharing, um… power.”

   “Yeah,” Buffy said. “Tell Oz. Tell him quick.”

   “Would you tell Angel?”

   Buffy froze. The Spike door rattled. “Tell him what?”

   “If you started being interested in someone else, would you tell Angel?”

   “Angel, um... that’s... kind of a different... he’s a vampire, all right, they’re violent and jealous and there’s things that Angel can’t do, okay, it’s not fair to expect me to just tell him, he’d either kill Spike or be convinced he had to leave me. And I can’t live without Angel. He’s my husband, he’s my soulmate, it’s destiny, and just because I had a bout of temporary insanity doesn’t mean that I should go literally insane and tell Angel, who was already jealous of Xander and every other boy I ever so much as looked at, not that there’s anything going on between me and Spike, right? That would be nuts!”

   She had Willow’s complete attention. Probably because the Spike door had burst open and Spike thoughts had come roaring out and landed square in her running mouth. She tried to jam the Spike thoughts back into their Spike door, but it was far, far too late, because Willow had heard everything.

   “Something’s going on between you and Spike?” Willow demanded.

   “Um….”

   “How far is that  _um_  up  _your_  sleeve?”

   Buffy stared, wishing to to god she could just reset the whole last minute, and then buried her face in her hands. “Oh, god,” she whispered.

   “It’s gone past sleeves, hasn’t it?” Willow asked. “This is why you’ve been acting so weird lately, and why you never picked up those clothes from the laundry. Oh my god, Oz knows, doesn’t he? He smelled it on you. That’s why  _he’s_  been acting so weird!”

   “Uh… probably some of it,” Buffy confessed.

   “And I thought it was more of the Veruca stuff. God, now I feel twice as guilty. I thought he was weird because he really wanted another werewolf or something.”

   “I’m sure that’s not it,” Buffy said.

   “How far has this gone? He bit you, right? Is this some kinky vampire thing?”

   “I….”

   “So is it just some lusty looks, or are we talking full enchilada?” She leaned forward. “Do you know his enchilada?”

   Buffy sagged.

   “You  _do_  know his enchilada!”

   “I… I… I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

   “The enchilada?”

   “And the salsa, and the sour cream, and the rice and beans on the side,” Buffy said. “You can’t tell anyone. Not  _anyone_  do you hear me? Not even Oz, though you’re right, I think he knows, but you can’t  _talk_  about it. Angel can’t find out, okay? Not about  _Spike_. He wouldn’t understand.”

   “I’m not sure _I_ understand. Spike’s a vampire.”

   “Oz is a werewolf.”

   “Yeah, but he’s a locked up werewolf, and Angel’s a souled vampire. Spike’s like a  _real_  vampire. Like... soulless, murdering, grab-the-torch-and-pitchforks vampire.”

   “Well, Cordy says he’s not killing anymore. Same as Harmony. And you’re okay with Harmony hanging around Sunnydale, right?”

   “Well, sort of, now that she’s stopped trying to bite me. But do you really believe her?”

   “I believe it about Harmony,” Buffy said. “Though I don’t agree with the whole sucking thing. I mean, it seems….” She stopped. It was hypocritical, with how she kept letting Spike snack on her. “But there’s degrees of evil,” she finally said. “Spike wasn’t Angelus level, ever. He helped me with Acathla.”

   “He also threatened to drive a bottle through my face.”

   “But he didn’t,” Buffy said. “Besides, it’s not real, it’s just... something that happened with the two of us, in the middle of a fight, and now it’s out of my system, and it’s never going to happen again,” she said firmly. No point in mentioning that it already had happened again. Twice. “So would you go to my mom’s house and disinvite Angel?”

   “How does disinvite Angel follow from you’re never seeing Spike again?”

   “I’m done with Spike,” Buffy said. Whips. Chains. His tongue and his teeth on her…  _No! Not yet!_  She tried to shove the Spike door closed again, and sort of got it wedged. “But that doesn’t mean Angel might not find out, and I’m afraid he’ll get....”

   “Jealous?”

   “Maybe he won’t be able to think very clearly,” Buffy said. “You know how you felt when you first found out about Veruca.”

   “I nearly….” Willow sagged. “Yeah. I get it.”

   “But you and Oz are okay now, and Angel and I would probably be okay after we had a chance to cool down. So Mom wanted me to make it so that if Angel gets mad he... he can’t get me there.”

   “This was your mother’s idea?”

   “Look, it’s her house, if she wants to ban her son-in-law for a while, I think we should let her.”

   “Wait, so your mom knows?”

   “Um… sort of. Will you do it?”

   “If you promise not to tell about Tara,” Willow said.

   “You promise not to tell about Spike?”

   “Best friend swear.”

   “Best friend swear,” Buffy added, holding up her hand, and the two friends locked fingers.

   “So when are we going to do this disinvite?”

   “As soon as you’re ready,” Buffy said.

   “Well, I have a date... uh... a study session with Tara this evening, and I’m having dinner with Oz before that. So, this afternoon? You don’t have a class then, do you?”

   “I was gonna study a little in the library.” And keep away from home, where Spike thoughts and Angel thoughts and SpikeAndAngel thoughts had ample opportunity to try and sneak out that door in her head. “But we can go this afternoon. Are you gonna tell Oz at supper?”

   “I... don’t think so,” Willow said. “I’ll tell him about Tara and the magic study. I guess it’s time for that. But not the other stuff. Not yet.”

   “Ease into it,” Buffy said. “Good plan. But you really should tell him.”

   “Are you  _sure?_  It would be easier to… not. What if he leaves me? What if he says I should leave her? I don’t know what will happen. And  _he_  lied to  _me_ about Veruca.”  

   “And you know how much that hurt,” Buffy said. “I can’t tell Angel. And I wish I could every minute. That… eats at me. I don’t want that feeling for you, even if Oz did it to you first.”

   Willow hesitated, then nodded. “You sure you couldn’t ease into the stuff with Spike?” she asked.

   “Angel’s… a lot different from Oz. And Spike is a lot different from how far you got with Tara.”

   “You wouldn’t have to tell him how far you got yet. Like I said, ease into it first.”

   Yeah. Tell Angel that she was thinking about maybe opening up their marriage to things like... sex toys or something, and then suggesting they could... find another sex partner for her. Like she could see that going down. And then easing into,  _And Spike would be the perfect guy for it!_

   No. All she’d get would be those brown puppy-dog eyes of Angel’s looking wounded and distant, and then she and Angel would be fighting. “Angel hates Spike,” Buffy said. “Sometimes even I think I hate Spike. It’s really different, Will.”

   “I know. It would just be easier if I knew you were going through the exact same thing. But… I guess you’re right, and it’s not the exact same.” She reached forward and hugged Buffy. “I’m sorry,” she said.

   “So am I.”  

   She set a date to meet with Willow that afternoon, and headed to the library to do some reading she’d been putting off. When Willow showed up at three, she and Buffy packed up into Oz’s van, which he’d lent to Willow because the walk to Revello Drive from the campus was possible, but long.

   Buffy burst into the front door with Willow at her heels. “Mom?” she called out. She heard Joyce’s laugh somewhere in the kitchen. Did she have a guest? Buffy hurried forward, hoping Joyce had met some guy at the gallery, and her mom had a date.

   Only to find Spike huddled over the kitchen island with a cup of cocoa in his hand, and Joyce laughing as she leaned against the counter.

   It looked incredibly domestic. Both of them were easy and relaxed. The kitchen curtains were closed, and Spike had his coat on the back of the chair. Her mother had a half eaten doughnut in her hand.

   The Spike door in Buffy’s head splintered, and visions of Spike over her and under her and behind her and before her burst with extreme technicolor detail into her head. The way he cringed under her whipping, the weight of him as he took her, the feel of him between her legs as she mock-fought against the chains, the sensation of him behind her — her entire lower body clenched as the Spike thoughts ran rampaging through her brain.

   “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded of Spike.

   “Oh, Buffy,” Joyce said, still smiling. “I’m glad to see you. Spike and I were just sharing a cup of cocoa.”

   “What are you doing here?” Buffy demanded again. “Did you follow me here? Are you stalking me? I didn’t give you permission to be here!”

   “I’m not your bloody servant, miss high and mighty,” Spike retorted. “Don’t need your permission when the mistress of the house was so gracious as to extend her invitation to this afternoon, did I?” He nodded politely at Joyce.

   “Don’t play innocent with me!” Buffy yelled at him. “You have no right to be here!”

   “Actually, Buffy,” Joyce said. “I invited him.”

   Buffy stared. “You what?”

   “I was at the gas station, and found Spike inside buying some cigarettes. We said hello. I realized as I was paying for my gas that he was going to have difficulty with the sun.”

   “I could have made it,” Spike said. “Had my coat over my head already, just had to get to the sewer entrance.”

   “Well, you shouldn’t have to spend your day in a sewer,” Joyce said politely. “Besides, I could use the company. I picked up some doughnuts and invited him to spend the day at our house.”

   “Just until the sun sets,” Spike said.

   “I only had the gallery this morning, after all,” Joyce said. “Always nice to have company with you out of the house.”

   “Mom....” Buffy said. “I don’t think... I mean I didn’t... just because....” She stopped. “Can I talk to you?” she hissed at her mother.

   “I suppose,” Joyce said. Her face was cool and calm, but her eyes narrowed just a bit. “Willow, have a doughnut.” She held a plate out. “They’re from this morning, but they haven’t gone stale yet.”

   “Um. Thanks,” Willow said. She took a doughnut and took a seat opposite Spike, regarding him with her serious Willow face. “Hello, Spike.”

   “Hey there, Red,” Spike said. “How’s the witching?”

   “Fine,” Willow said. “How’s the blood drinking?”

   “Bit stilted at the moment, but won’t complain,” Spike said.

   Buffy grabbed her mother's arm and dragged her out to the front hall. “Mom!” Buffy hissed. “What the hell is Spike doing here?”

   “I told you, I invited him,” Joyce said. “He looked so vulnerable with that coat over his head, timing his exit from the gas station so he could reach the manhole quickly enough. I’m surprised he takes such risks. I offered him a place to wait out the sun, and drove the car up to the door. He used that blanket I keep in the trunk to protect himself until we got here.”

   “Yeah, but why did you invite him  _here_?” Buffy asked. “What did you expect him to do? Sit casually and chat about murder?”

   “Actually we’ve been having a very pleasant conversation,” Joyce said. “He didn’t bring up murder once.”

   “What the hell have you been talking about?”

   “The gallery, Victorian literature, his work killing demons,” Joyce said. “Mostly you.”

   “Mom!”

   “What? You’re an important part of my life, Buffy, and frankly you’re now a part of his, too. I thought it important that we get to know each other better.”

   “Mom! He’s a soulless, heartless, killing machine!”

   “Soulless he may be,” Joyce said. “But he’s far from heartless. He seems to feel very deeply about things. He wanted to know what you were like when you were little.”

   “What did you tell him?” Buffy asked, mortified.

   “Well, about Power Girl, and about how you liked daffodils, and how you and your father would go on special dates for grown up dinners where you’d have him help you pick out clothes....”

   “Mom, he doesn’t need to know all that stuff!”

   “Well... he asked.”

   “And he’s still a murderer,” Buffy added.

   “So is your Angel,” Joyce said. “If I have to accept one murderer in the family, I have to accept that another one is... okay.”

   “Mom!”

   “Buffy,” Joyce said firmly. “I invited him home for some chocolate and doughnuts. It’s not as if we’re talking about his centuries of slaughter.”

   “Why weren’t you?” Buffy asked. “How can you forget that he kills people for food?”

   “He  _used_  to kill people for food,” Joyce said. “Now he’s stopped that. And you kill demons in your spare time. So does he, apparently. You actually seem to have a lot in common.”

   “Mom, you have never sat down and had intimate conversations with Angel.”

   “No,” Joyce said. “He’s never offered.”

   That surprised Buffy, but she supposed... no. Angel prefered his mystery. He wasn’t one to chat with his mother-in-law.

   “I still don’t like it,” Buffy said.

   “Well, given the circumstances, no doubt you don’t,” Joyce said. “But he’s here, and I’ve done it. I wasn’t expecting you here this afternoon, you know.”

   “Which makes it even worse,” Buffy added, but her mother had already turned to go back into the kitchen.

   “So sorry, Spike, just having a little chat with my daughter. Would you care for another doughnut?”

   “Oh, no thanks, Joyce. Too much human food and I need more blood too fast. But is there any more chocolate?”

   “Marshmallows just how you like them,” Joyce said, pulling the package from the corner of the counter. “Let me just heat it up again.”

   “You make really good hot cocoa, Mrs. Summers,” Willow said.

   “The secret is milk instead of water,” Joyce said. “Though it’s not much of a secret. Would you like some, Buffy?”

   “No, I don’t,” Buffy said, and realized as she said it that she sounded like a petulant child. “Fine,” she added, grabbing a doughnut. “Let’s all have hot cocoa and doughnuts. It’s totally normal. Nothing weird about this at all.”

   “You see?” Joyce said. “We can have a pleasant afternoon.”

   Oddly enough, they did. Joyce did a lot of the talking, discussing the religious practices of the tribe whose artwork the gallery was showcasing at the moment. Spike kept up an interested chirp, and Willow brought in some concepts she had learned in college, or through her magic studies. Buffy spent most of the time brooding over her hot cocoa, trying to jam her Spike door closed again, but the damn thing seemed to be broken, and her eyes kept being drawn to his delicate hands on the cup, or the shape of his thigh under his jeans, or the way his muscles bulged gently out of the sleeve of his t-shirt. The way his throat moved as he swallowed. The shape of his face, his cheekbones, his soft nose. His blonde hair in the diffuse sunlight through the closed curtains.

   Why did Mom have to invite him home?

   To her annoyance, having him here drinking cocoa with her mom felt more like cheating than the sex had.

   “Well, I have to get back to the college,” Willow said. “Oz and I were going to meet in the cafeteria. We should get that disinvite started.”

   “Disinvite?” Spike asked, an edge to his voice.

   “Of course, do you need any ingredients or anything?” Joyce asked.

   “Um, no, we brought everything we needed, but... um....” Willow glanced at Spike.

   “Oh, Spike isn’t included in this,” Joyce said. “Why don’t you and Buffy get started in her room, and I’ll keep Spike company.”

   “Okay.” Willow went out to get her bag from the front hall.

   “Mom,” Buffy started.

   “Spike will need a safe space as much as you will if trouble comes up,” Joyce told her firmly. “Go on.”

   “Mom, this isn’t fair to Angel.”

   “If everything turns out smoothly in the end, we can always invite Angel back,” Joyce said. By this Buffy knew that Spike knew that Joyce knew everything. And Willow knew everything. And Oz knew everything. This was the worst kept secret in Sunnydale.

   Angel was definitely going to find out at this rate.

   Buffy’s head went back and she stared at the ceiling. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll disinvite my husband while we keep the soulless murderer. I don’t like this!”

   “You agreed to it, until this is all over,” Joyce reminded her.

   “You can disinvite me too, Joyce, if it’ll make things easier for you,” Spike said. “I can always find me a hidey hole from Angel.”

   “No,” Joyce said firmly. “You’re a guest in my house. You have always been welcome so long as you have Buffy’s back in a fight.”

   “Oh, I’ve got that, all right,” Spike said, glancing over at Buffy in a way that made her wish that Spike door was back, because he was making her hands shake her heart thump and other portions of her anatomy do various dance moves, all to her annoyance. “Few other things, too,” he added.

   “Shut up, Spike,” Buffy said. “This is my mom.”

   “And a charming woman she is,” Spike said with a smirk.

   “Don’t get comfortable,” Buffy said.

   “Too late,” Spike said. “It should be almost sunset soon. I should get back to... well, my busy unlife.”

   “Stay until you can leave without a blanket,” Joyce told him. “Go on and help Willow, Buffy. We’ll be okay here.”

   Buffy rolled her eyes. This was insane!

   She stalked up the stairs to find Willow murmuring incantations over her window. “Don’t we need a cross?” Buffy asked.

   Willow pointed to something green on the windowsill. “The herbs will work better,” she said. “Cleanses the invite itself, instead of just covering it up with the Christian trappings of repellence.”

   “Fine,” Buffy said. “You’re the witch.” She sat down glumly on her old bed. “I can’t believe Mom’s doing this.”

   “Picking Spike over Angel?” Willow asked.

   “Spike doesn’t have a soul!” Buffy cried. “How can’t she see that?”

   “When Angel didn’t have soul, he tried to destroy the world,” Willow pointed out. “Spike tried to save it, right?”

   “Well... yeah.”

   “So, given the choice between one soulless vampire and another, the choice is obvious. Just ‘cause Angel has a soul now doesn’t mean he’s a different person.”

   “Yes, it does.”

   “She’s just trying to protect you two from whatever Angel’s going to do when he finds out.”

   “What do you think Angel will do when he finds out?” Buffy asked.

   Willow looked over at her. “I... actually don’t know,” Willow said. “I don’t know Angel as well as you do. None of us do. He’s not like Spike. He doesn’t talk about his problems.” She turned back to her spell. “Except maybe with Cordelia.”

   “Cordelia?” Buffy asked.

   “Well, he’s usually talking to her when I see them at the Bronze,” Willow said. “Usually he hangs out there when you’ve been fighting. But I think... I think Angel would get jealous.”

   Buffy sighed. “Yeah. I think he would, too.”

   She did some carrying of herbs and mumbling of incantations with Willow, but the witch really did seem to have everything under control. By the time they got all the upstairs windows herbed and chanted, it was getting on towards sunset.

   When they came downstairs, Buffy found Spike in the process of putting on his coat at the front door. “ _Now_  you’re leaving?” Buffy asked, pointedly.

   “You’ve made it real clear you don’t want me here, love,” Spike said. “Figured I’d leave you to your spells. But your mum is a dear. Goodbye, Joyce!”

   “I’ll talk to you later!” Joyce called from the kitchen.

   “Spike...” Buffy began.

   Buffy glanced at Willow, and Willow said, “Oh, look at that, I need some, um... salt. For the downstairs doors. For the spell. I’ll just go to the kitchen and get it.” She made a hasty departure.

   “Look,” Buffy said to Spike. “It’s really not fair for you to get all up in my mom’s face. This has nothing to do with her.”

   “She invited me, pet,” Spike said. “And I’ve naught better to do but spend the day with some pleasant company. Just because her daughter’s a priss doesn’t mean I should insult a fine lady like your mum.”

   “It wouldn’t be an insult.”

   “Would have been in my day,” Spike said. “Besides, I like the bird. We had a nice talk.”

   “About me.”

   “That’s what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Spike asked. He advanced on her, and how had he gotten her between him and the wall? He was really much too close. He had to hear her heart beating. “Well, if you hadn’t noticed, I usually like you, too,” he said low. “Except when you’re acting all shirty like this.”

   “What the hell does shirty mean?” Buffy asked, glad her voice wasn’t trembling. “That isn’t even a word. Look. I just... what we have, it’s not... chatting with my mom stuff. It’s dark of the night being naughty stuff. Okay? Angel and I have the chatting with my mom stuff.”

   “Angel won’t chat with your mum,” Spike said. “She’s said as much, and I would have guessed it, anyway. He’s not the chat with your mum type. Just because he’s all stuffed up with a soul doesn’t turn him into other than he always was.”

   “That’s not true.”

   “He’s not into family,” Spike said. “He’s only into himself.”

   “He loves me,” Buffy said darkly.

   Spike leaned forward and whispered into her ear, making her knees tremble. Some part of her wanted him to shove her against the wall and start into her right there. “And how is that not... about... him?” Spike asked. And then he was gone. Buffy opened her eyes to find him opening the door into the shadows of the setting sun. There was enough shadow to protect him, as the sun was behind the house. “But keep it easy, love. You’re getting good at that. Later.”

   He strode out the door.

   Buffy felt thoughtful after that, and finally, finally, stopped trying to slam the door on the Spike thoughts. And they surprised her. They weren’t all sexybits. And they were all mixed up with Angel.

   Angel did love her. She knew he did. But both Spike and her mom were right. He wasn’t the type to come over for coffee and talk with her mom about her day. He never had been. And soul or not, he never would be.

   She helped Willow finish the spells on the downstairs mostly in silence, thinking about Angel and Spike and sex and not-sex, and what it all meant. Willow let her think, and dropped her off at Crawford Street with the van when they’d finished. Angel wasn’t back yet.

   She carefully stripped off her clothes and looked down at herself in the bathroom when she got home. There was no full length mirror. Mirrors made Angel uncomfortable, so the only mirror was in Buffy’s room. She had a mark on her wrist, and a puncture mark on her neck. She’d forgotten to cover it up. No one had commented on it. Of course, it was partly concealed by her hair.

   She poured herself a hot bath and gave herself completely over to exploring her Spike thoughts. He had done things to her body that she’d never thought she’d let anyone do. And she had liked those things. What did that make her? Yesterday she would have thought she was sick. But yesterday hadn’t been today. Yesterday Spike was pure evil. Today Spike trusted her enough to let himself be chained (and she had trusted him back. At least a little.) Yesterday Buffy had only opened herself to things she knew she wanted. Today she had tried things she hadn’t known if she wanted, and discovered she did want them. Yesterday she had never seen her mother chatting with her boyfriend before.

   He mind caught at that thought. Boyfriend? Was Spike her boyfriend?

   No. She put that thought away, not ready for that one yet. Something was wrong with the whole equation. And she wasn’t sure it was Spike who was out of balance.

   As she lay in the bath she heard Angel come home. “Buffy?” he called out.

   “I’m in the bath!” she called back.

   A few minutes later she heard Angel turning on some music. At least he went with classical this time, instead of Barry Manilow. She laid her head back and thought about Angel. Angel, who she loved. Angel, who she trusted. Angel, with his tormented soul. Spike wasn’t tormented. That was reserved for the soulful like Angel.

   Like herself.

   She climbed out the bath and dried herself off, putting a bandaid on her neck, but otherwise not covering up the bite mark. If he asked she could say she’d gotten it slaying last night. But she kind of knew already... Angel wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t look at her bruises. He would barely touch her.

   She put on a silk robe and tied it tightly, then left the room to find her husband sitting on the couch. He was reading. She wondered if Spike was a reader. Well, he was talking literature with her mom earlier. He probably was.

   She went up to Angel feeling oddly calm and peaceful. Angel was relaxing. He wasn’t confusing. He was her husband, and she didn’t have to think about whether she was into anal sex or sadomasochism or anything dangerous with him. He was soulful and calming and gentle with her. And she wanted him. She was sated, but she found herself wanting Angel. Wanting something easy.

   Spike wanted to be easy.

   But she already had that with Angel. That wasn’t what she needed from Spike.

   Thinking she had sorted out her Spike thoughts, and very tired from her busy day, she went up to Angel and hugged him quietly. Two human souls, together. That all made sense. She decided to take care of him for a while. It was important to take care of her husband. It was important to be easy with each other. They should have a pleasant evening. She got him some blood, made sure he was comfortable. She asked about his mission, but mostly tuned out what he had to say. She kept up an encouraging hum, keeping enough attention to drop in words like, “Man,” and “That’s messed up,” and “Good for you.” She lay down quietly eventually found herself falling asleep on the couch beside him.

   Before she lost consciousness, though, her mind lingered on something easy. Spike in her mother’s kitchen, laughing over a doughnut.

 


	14. Walk the Walk

   Buffy was wild and easy, her hair tossing, her body moving, her hips swirling as she raged happily with the music. Angel, who could not dance, sat back at the table with a beer in his hand, enjoying watching her and her freedom. She was so, so beautiful.

   There were times when watching her dance had terrified him. Such power and such liberty, such dynamic abandon, such passion. There were times he had looked down on it, even been disapproving when he saw it. It was the kind of dancing she had done when she’d been with Faith, when she’d been wild with her own power. He had feared it was an indication of some kind of irresponsibility and danger, that she’d do something untoward with her unbridled intensity.

   He’d been afraid she’d unloose it on him.

   Now he just sat back and enjoyed watching her dance with her friends.

   She was in some wild threesome with Xander and Willow. Oz, who was not much of a dancer himself, was watching the musician on the stage with a studying air. “ _She listened as her dreams silently screamed, drowned like little dolphins caught in a fishnet,_ ” the willowy singer chanted quickly as her song started. “ _Dear world, I’m pleased to meet you! Hey, everybody, can you walk the walk?_ ”

   “She any good?” Angel asked, talking over her.

   “Huh?”

   “The singer.”

   “Poe?” Oz shrugged, seeming mildly annoyed at being distracted. “What do you think?”

   “Well, she’s... energetic,” Angel said. It wasn’t really his style of music. Buffy seemed to be enjoying it, though, jumping up and down just like the singer was.

   “I see you’re not brooding alone tonight,” Cordelia said, coming up to clear the empty glasses off the table.

   “I don’t brood,” Angel said.

   “You brood. It’s your defining characteristic,” Cordy said. “Just surprised to see you, with Buffy out on the floor.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I mean, I almost never see you and Buffy here together since your marriage,” Cordelia said. “It’s like there was a sign on the door, married couples not invited.”  

   Oz slightly narrowed his eyes at Angel and Cordelia, the closest he would get to telling them to be quiet and let him listen, then he got up to move closer to the stage. He leaned against a post beside the dance floor, nodding his head to the music as he absorbed it.

   “Well, Buffy wanted to come out tonight,” Angel said. “I wanted to come with her. It’s not so very strange that a man would go out with his young wife, is it?”

   “The way you moaned about her, I’d have thought she wouldn’t be your wife for much longer,” Cordelia said.

   “Hey.” Angel reached up and grabbed her hand. “I hope I never let you think....” He looked over at Buffy, dancing with abandon with her friends. “I love Buffy. I’ll always love Buffy. It was just hard for a while, that’s all.”

   “Was?” Cordy asked. “It’s not hard now?”

   Angel shook his head. “I don’t know what it is,” he said. “But things are so much better now.”

   “Are they,” Cordy said, nonplussed.

   “Really, really better. She didn’t even complain when I got back from my last mission in LA. She was just glad to see me home.”

   It had been wonderful when he got home, actually. Buffy had come out of the bathroom smelling like lavender and vanilla, warm and pliant and gentle. She’d sat him down in the living room, and lit a fire, and warmed him some blood. Then she’d let him read and rub her feet while she fell asleep languidly on the couch. He’d gotten so used to her complaining about his missions, making demands of him when he got back. Now it was as if she’d poured herself into the exact shape of what he needed, without any little leftover corners of what they couldn’t have digging into their felicity.

   He smiled at her across the Bronze, and she caught his eye and grinned. She said something to Willow, then did a high kick while Willow ducked. She reveled in her slayer strength on the dance floor. She laughed when Willow stumbled and landed on Xander, who twirled his friend away and back with a grin, then let Buffy pick her up and spin her before setting her down again.

   “I don’t know,” Angel went on. “Maybe we’ve just finally settled down into being married. She finally accepts what that means.”

   “A lifetime of playing second fiddle to your destiny?” Cordelia asked.

   “That’s not fair,” Angel said. “I always respect Buffy’s destiny. I am her destiny. Just like she’s mine.”

   “Well, if she’s happy with it, I guess,” Cordelia said. “What do you mean, things are better now? You mean she’s not pawing at you too much?”

   “Not just that,” he said, though that had been true too, these last weeks. “It’s been sweet and... I can’t describe it. She just seems....” He gestured at her. “Look at her. She’s happy.”

   Cordelia looked. “Yeah. I see.”

   The singer on the stage shouted out, “ _Then suddenly you hear it, it's the beat of your heart, and for the first time in your life you know your life is about to start._ ”

   “You need another beer?” Cordy asked, sounding exactly like an exhausted bar waitress.

   “Nah, I think I’m good,” Angel said.

   “Whatever. Enjoy your night.”

   “Hey, Cordy?” Angel called out as she turned off with her tray of dirty cups. “Something wrong?”

   “No. Apparently there’s nothing.” She stalked off back to work.

   Angel felt bad. He realized that Cordy wanted to be out there, dancing, not picking up dirty glasses and fetching patrons fresh beers. He almost wanted to go after her and ask if there was something he could do to help, but she had already disappeared into the back room, Buffy was dancing like a sylph on the wind, and Angel had just realized Spike had come in.

   “ _I wanna walk to the beat of my own drum,_ ” the singer moaned out.  

   Angel surged up and paced Spike as he made his way through the crowd. Spike’s eyes had locked on Buffy, who had gone from the raging tempo of the beginning of the song to the languid smoothness of the end of it, and looked like sex personified. Spike was on a hunt. Angel knew that look. And he had spotted his prey in the form of Angel’s wife.

   Angel knew he shouldn’t get into a fight at the Bronze, but he wasn’t about to let Buffy be molested on her night out, either. “Well, hello, Spike,” he said, sliding up and into Spike’s line of vision.

   He stepped a little too close to the smaller vampire, invading his personal space. Spike took a step forward himself, playing move for move, probably because Angel was the one who had taught him the game, until the two of them were almost touching noses. “Hello, Angel, mate, how’s the pickin’s for the night? Any cute virgins to seduce?”

   “Spike,” Buffy said, coming up behind Angel. She firmly took hold of Angel’s arm, until they were a linked unit. He liked that. “What are you doing here?” she demanded of Spike.

   “What are  _you_  doing here?” Spike asked. He took a step back so his look could encompass both of them. “The young newlyweds out for a night of music and passion? Honeymoon isn’t over, is it?” He glanced at Angel. “I always wondered why it was called a honeymoon. You always loved to bring the honey, didn’t you, Angel? Mix it in with the blood, if you could? Make a big joke of it, wonderful game, that was.”

   “You know that’s not my game, anymore,” Angel said. “None of it. But what’s yours?”

   “Come on, you two,” Buffy said, looking hard at Spike. “Let’s not play any stupid games. There’s whole bunch of people here. People we don’t want to  _upset_. Do we?”

   “You heard the lady,” Angel said menacingly. “What do you want with the people?”

   “Who said I was after anything but a couple beers?” Spike said to Buffy. “You should know better than to assign nefarious plots to innocent passers by.”

   “You’re no innocent,” Buffy began.

   “Neither are you,” Spike said with a grin.

   “Anyway!” Buffy said quickly. “We don’t want any trouble, Spike.”

   “Trouble’s what you’re best at,” he told her. “Besides, it’s a free country. We know all about being free, now, don’t we, Buffy?”

   “That’s enough!” she snapped. “You’ve had your chat, made your manly threats. Now Angel and I will sit back down, and you’ll just go on your merry little way, right, Spike?”

   “We both know about being merry, too, don’t we?” Spike asked with a smirk.  

   Buffy’s eyes opened wide, and she took in a breath to shout something, but she stopped herself. “I don’t want you here,” she said calmly, but Angel could feel her shaking. “Now go home.”

   Spike’s jaw twitched. Angel wondered where Spike was laying his hat these days. He hadn’t managed to track him to a lair, yet. “I’m after a bloody beer,” he said to Buffy low and slow. “I’m allowed, if nothing else, a bloody beer, aren’t I?”

   “I never said you couldn’t get a beer,” Buffy said quickly. “Get your beer, and go.”

   Spike smiled at Angel. “I may just want to catch up on old times with my old sire here,” he said. “After all, we did know each other quite well. Maybe not as well as I know some people,” he added.

   “Angel doesn’t need to hear anything you have to say!” Buffy snapped.

   Angel was starting to feel left out of this conversation. “I’ve heard enough from you, Spike.”

   “No you haven’t,” Spike said. “Trust me, you haven’t.”

   “Spike!” Buffy snarled. “Here, here’s a beer. Put it in your mouth,” she said, grabbing one from the hand of the nearest patron. The guy was too shocked to even protest, just stared at the exchange, cringed at the crackle of energy between the vampires and the slayer, and decided to back quietly away.

   “Oh, you like to give me things, don’t you, slayer?”

   “I’ll give you a black eye, you keep molesting my wife!” Angel barked.

   “Molesting?” Spike laughed outright. “ _Molesting?_  Oh, that’s a lark, that is. What have you been telling him, sweetheart, he catch a whiff of the wrong end?”

   “That’s it,” Buffy said, and to Angel’s surprise she let go of him and hit Spike square in the face. Spike went backwards, running into another patron, the stolen beer dropping from his hands with a smash of breaking glass. The musicians, who had been starting up another slow introduction, stuttered to a stop, and everyone stared. Oz, Willow, and Xander pushed their way through the crowd to stand ready to help.

   Buffy stood, shaking slightly, her eyes sharp and glittering like the broken green bottle on the floor. “Shut up, go home, and leave us be, Spike,” she said. “I’m not going to put up with any more of your taunts.”

   “A taunt is the least of your worries, slayer, and don’t pretend it isn’t.”

   “This isn’t the time or place, Spike,” Angel said. “If you want a fight, just meet us outside.”

   “Great incentive for me to stay inside then, I reckon,” Spike said.

   “Fine!” Buffy snapped. “Come on, Angel, let’s just go back to our table.” She tugged on Angel’s arm. “No, come on, he’s not worth it. Not here. Let’s just avoid him.”

   “Yeah,” Spike said low. “You get him to avoid me, sweetheart. You do just that.”

   “Don’t forget, Spike,” Angel said, holding up his fist with the gem of Amara sparkling on it. “There isn’t much chance of winning against me.”

   “You know that’s never stopped me, Angelus.”

   Angel took a step forward then, all ready to prove his point and take up the fray after Buffy, but then Cordelia took a hand. She darted in between them, armed with a tray and a dish cloth, and literally bumped Angel out of the way with her behind. “Coming through, shut up, coming through,” she said. She brushed much of the broken glass up, protecting her hand with the towel. Angel felt awkward continuing to quarrel with Spike with a crouching woman in between them.

   A second later Cordy stood up, standing directly between them all. “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I have to clean up any messes that get made, so if you don’t mind, you can quit making them anywhere near me. You.” She glared at Spike. “Go get your beer. Now. You,” she said to Angel. “Go dance with Buffy. I don’t care if you don’t want to, you bring a girl out, you treat her right, right? And you. Teach him how to dance,” she added to Buffy. “All of you. Go! Hike! Split! Whatever.” She shoved Spike toward the bar with the tray, and looked over her shoulder at Angel.

   Angel felt a little bad. Cordy was right about one thing. He should have at least _tried_  to dance with Buffy. The musicians started up their intro again, and the night went on without any more trouble.

 

 

***

 

   “Just what are you up to?” Cordelia snapped at Spike. “Did you come here to start a fight?”

   “I swear I just came here for a beer,” he said. “You know I can’t cause trouble.”

   “I know about that thing in your head, you can still cause trouble,” Cordelia said. “All you ever did is cause trouble from the second you got into Sunnydale.” She shoved a beer almost into his face and pointedly rang up the cash register.

   Spike obliged her by handing her a fiver he had bullied from a patron outside. No good if Cordy lost her job. Who would he bum beers from? “Trouble finds me,” he said. “Whether I go looking for it or not.”

   “Well, quit tweaking Angel’s nose, he’s got enough on his plate.”

   “Nowhere near enough, if you ask me,” Spike muttered.

   “No one asked you,” Cordelia said. “No one will ever ask you. I work here. Don’t shit where I eat.”

   Spike sighed. “I got a bit of contempt for anyone who complains about not being able to eat.”

   “If you could eat, Buffy and Angel would already have dusted you, and you wouldn’t be messing up my club.”

   “I would have been long gone from this place, pet, and you know it,” Spike said. “Same as you. I got shafted clear as you did.”

   Cordelia’s hand instinctively went to her scar, but she covered the move up with an absent scratch. “Just don’t piss off my boss,” she said. “I have a hard enough time keeping this job as it is.”

   “How did you get this job?” Spike asked.

   Cordelia blenched. “None of your business.”

   Spike had an idea just from that.

   “There’s easier ways to earn minimum wage.”

   “I get half over, and benefits, including dental, health care, and physical therapy for my arm, thanks,” Cordy said. “Is that as much as you get for your little job?”

   “I get plenty of check ups,” Spike snapped. “Same as you, I’m sure.” They both stared glumly at each other over the bar for a moment. “Looks like we’re both in shit over our heads,” Spike added.

   Cordelia looked away to where Buffy and Angel were on the dance floor, Buffy snuggled up to Angel and gently swaying. Spike followed her gaze, and it felt like a lance. There Buffy was, openly and obviously loving the bloody wanker with the god complex. He’d have given his arm to be out there on the dance floor with her. And he’d have been doing more than that stupid swaying. He was jealous anyway. They weren’t exactly dancing, but they were close. So close….

   “ _But as far as I can see, you are still miles from me in your doorway,_ ” the singer crooned.

   “Just drink your beer,” Cordelia said. “And leave me alone.”

   Spike took his beer and sauntered away, finally trailing up to the balcony. She was like a sickness, Buffy. He couldn’t take his damned eyes off her.

   He stood up there, nursing his beer, listening to the singer, who wasn’t half bad. Angel only tried to dance with Buffy for that one slow song. After that he dragged her back to the table and pulled her onto his lap. Spike kept watching for anything interesting happening with Angel’s hand, but no. He kept it firmly and completely out of Buffy’s lap, and Buffy didn’t seem to be trying to hold any interesting sensations under cover.

   Spike would have been all over (and up) that skirt she was wearing. His hand would be gently caressing her bra strap there that he could just see peeking out the corner of her collar. Just slide his finger down it, until she formed goose pimples. God, he loved that gooseflesh she still gave out. All the joys of a living victim, and all the strength of a demon. He’d get some of that strength out of her next. Gripping her wrist there on the table too hard, hard enough to elicit some kind of reaction. Would she squeak? Protest? Tense on his lap there? He’d surely be as hard there as he was up here. He’d make sure she felt it, shifting underneath her, flexing in a half thrust as she perched there, unlike the perfect stillness Angel was still performing. Then. Then he’d go after the skirt. Slide his hand down the back of her shirt and just tickle at the base of her spine, poking just under the waist band. Then slide down to her buttocks, and maybe she’d shift then, trying to stop him. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d—

   He stopped his fantasy as she looked around the Bronze, sensing his gaze, and finally glanced up, her eyes fixing on his. She scowled, and tried to signal him with her eyes to leave her alone, but he didn’t have to. He was only looking. He smirked a little and kept on. She was so pretty when her eyes flashed angry like that. He couldn’t wait until she got off this high horse she was on and admitted what she wanted.

   It took less time than he thought it would. Buffy tried to go back to her evening with Angel and her friends, but she kept glancing up at him, until finally she whispered something to Angel and headed off toward the bathroom. She had barely put her hand on the door, though, when she snuck off through the crowd, making a circuitous route through the Bronze to the stairs.

   The singer had changed from her fast, anxious tones to something more melodious and tense, and Spike smiled as Buffy made it up to him. “Spike. You really have to go.”

   Her tone didn’t sound angry. She sounded hoarse. “Why?” he asked smoothly.

   “Because I can’t have you around Angel. I just can’t.”

   “Turn you on too hot?” Spike asked. “Can’t stand the thought of touching him and looking at me?” He reached out and pulled her closer to him on the balcony. “How about touching me, instead?” He turned her body to stare down at Angel. “Look at him,” he whispered into her ear. “Isn’t he perfect?” He started running his hands up her thighs, pressing her against the balcony so that his cock pushed hard against her buttocks. “Don’t you love him so?”

   “Oh, god,” she whispered.

   “ _Wait_ ,” murmured the singer. “ _I thought I had this down. I build all my cages and my hideouts._ ”

   “This is why you came here, why you came to me.” Spike whispered to Buffy. “You can try and pretend all you like, but this is what you wanted. Someone to touch you. Look at him.”

   She stared as Spike slipped up her skirt, slipping her panties aside. They were wet and warm as he caressed them. The singer whispered on the stage. “ _But you. You creep in like a whisper, it’s true. I try not to listen, yeah, but I hear you. I’m not really sure just what it is you do. But do it again._ ”

   “No, look at him,” Spike hissed as he unzipped his jeans. “Look at him. Does he do this to you? Does he make you feel like this? You thought he did, didn’t you? Once upon a time. You thought he was everything you wanted, the pain and heartache ripping through you, all his guilt and all his goodness as he tried to be what you wanted. But you don’t want that. You want the dark.”

   Buffy drew in a breath.

   “You want the taste of the blood in your mouth as much as you want the feel of this.” He slipped easily inside her, bending her over the balcony.

   “Oh, god,” she whispered.

   “Not too loud,” he cautioned her. “The singer sings, the crowd murmurs, but he might just look up. And then what would you do?”

   She whimpered, tensing around him.

   “Maybe that’s what you want?” he said, pulsing against and inside her. “Maybe you’re sick of this. Look at his face. He hasn’t the faintest idea what I’m doing to you. What you’re doing here. With me.”

   Buffy’s hand dented the metal railing of the balcony, and she let go of it as it started to creak. She leaned back against him, holding in her sounds, and Spike wished he could just yell out. But he didn’t really feel like being dusted by Angel tonight, actually, and anyway, he wanted more of her. He wasn’t done yet. He grabbed her around the waist and forced her deeper onto his cock, thrusting hard and rough, though he kept it slow and silent. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. But he was able to come silently as he felt her tensing around him.

   She grunted as she came, biting her lip hard. He could smell the blood as her teeth cut her inner lip.

   Angel could, too. For a brief moment he paused, sniffed, and then looked up—

   And Spike had already stepped away from the balcony before his eyes could catch them,  back into the shadows, pulling Buffy with him. Buffy gasped and stared, her eyes wide and wet, as they both gazed at the stairway, waiting to see if Angel would come running up to them.

   Nothing. Nothing. After a long, tense moment Buffy pulled away from him, creeping up to the rail. She gasped, and Spike came up to see what had caught her, but she had already relaxed by the time he made it to her. Angel had moved, but he had only moved closer to the door, and was helping Cordelia clean up a table.

   “Oh, shit,” Buffy gasped. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, how do I get out of here?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “He’ll smell you on me!” Buffy hissed with her teeth clenched. “I gotta get out of here. I gotta get you away from him.”

   “I’m not going anywhere.”

   “If he’ll smell you on me, he’ll smell me on you!” Buffy gasped. “Please.  _Please._ ”

   She was trembling.

   Pity struck him, which was something he wasn’t often used to. “Fine,” he said, annoyed with himself. If Drusilla had wanted to hide something from Angel, he would have done it. Did Buffy deserve any less? “What do you have in mind? If we go downstairs, believe me, our scent will carry.”

   “Fuck!” She looked desperate.

   “All right, look,” Spike said. “If we go down the emergency ladder we can avoid the main scent currents, but unless he moves away from the door, I don’t know how to get you out of here without him catching us.”

   “It’s a start,” Buffy said. She moved to the back of the balcony. “Excuse me,” she said to the intimate couple who were trying to have a deep conversation in the far corner. She climbed up onto the table and stepped over to the emergency ladder, which graced the wall of the Bronze in case of fire blocking the main stairs. Spike followed her, and now they were down opposite the Bronze from Angel, but still a long ways from the door.

   “Buffy? What the hell was that about?” Xander asked.

   Buffy squeaked, just like Spike imagined she would.

   “Xander!”

   “What’s wrong with the stairs? And what’s with the Evil Dead?” he added, looking over Spike.

   “I... uh....”

   Xander stared. Buffy stared. Spike raised an eyebrow.

   And finally Buffy bit the bullet. “Xander, get Angel away from the door.”

   “What?”

   “Just do it. I need to get Spike out of here before Angel catches him again.”

   “Why? You don’t want them fighting?” Xander looked confused. “What are you two hiding?”

   “Please,” Buffy asked him, as earnestly as she had asked Spike a moment before.  

   Xander’s confusion persisted for a long moment, and then he sighed. “Surrogate,” he said. “Why him?”

   “I....”

   “I mean, why Spike? Is it because he’s a vampire? Close enough to the real thing to feel like him?”

   Tears shone in Buffy’s eyes.

   “All right. Don’t like rubbing Angel’s nose in it?” Xander asked. He shook his head. “You shouldn’t play these games. Fine. I’ll distract Angel. But I think you made a crap choice, even if he isn’t killing.”

   “Please.”

   “Whatever.” He moved across the floor. “Hey, Angel!” Spike heard him call out.

   Xander approached Angel and Cordelia, and a moment later they moved away across the Bronze.

   The moment Angel was away from the door, Buffy bolted, dragging Spike with her, until they got outside. The door closed behind them, and Buffy shivered in the cooler air. Spike was almost disappointed. He had been enjoying the show, the time with Buffy. If it hadn’t been for Angel, he could have deeply enjoyed the evening.

   “Thank god that — oh!”

   Spike decided if he couldn’t have a nice date with his lover, he could at least get a proper kiss in. He grabbed and pulled her against him, pressing her mouth to his in a passionate kiss.

   “Mm.” Buffy wasn’t protesting until the door opened.

   Spike opened his eyes. He knew the gust of air would draw their scent into the Bronze in a draft of heady slayer scent. “Run,” he said to her.

   “What?”

   “Don’t want Angel catching you? Run!” He pushed Buffy down the alleyway, and sure enough, the moment they got to the corner, there was a voice.

   “Buffy?”

   Buffy put on a burst of speed, trying to escape the voice, even though they had already disappeared from view.

   “Buffy? You out here?”

   Spike ran with her, wind in his face, laughing all the way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poe’s album Haunted was released in 2000, and I decided she would have played the Bronze either before or during its release. Three of her songs from that album are referenced here, Walk the Walk, 5 1/2 Minute Hallway, and Amazed. I found a link to her singing Walk the Walk at a similar venue to the Bronze.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fs11WSu4nEA
> 
>  
> 
> I highly recommend these videos, too. Here’s Haunted, same venue, and Amazed, the song I gave to Spuffy.
> 
> Haunted
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQOPpr6reFY
> 
> Amazed
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fVUUAiQad4


	15. Distraction

   “So in conclusion, I don’t really think that Batman  _is_  the weird guardian of the night character he was created to be anymore. Between the dilution of Robin, and the complications of some very sketchy portrayals, I really don’t think that there’s enough darkness there to qualify as an actual dark knight. What do you think?”

   “I think you’re an idiot,” Cordy said to Xander. “Why was this important?”

   “I wanted Angel’s opinion in it,” Xander said. “Since he’s trying to get the whole dark knight thing down, after all. I mean, I thought it was important to get his perspective.”

   “I, uh... don’t really follow comic books,” Angel said awkwardly.

   “But you saw the movie, right?” Xander pressed.

   “Xander, what the hell are you talking about?” Cordelia asked.

   “Buffy?” Angel said suddenly. He looked up. “That’s weird.”

   “So you think he is a weird guardian—?”

   “No, shut up, I think Buffy just went outside.” Angel reached into his pocket and took out a stake. “Hang on, I think I’ll just make sure she doesn’t need help.”

   “No, wait, you don’t need to have seen the comic books in order to—!” Xander cut himself off with a sigh as Angel abandoned them to head outside. “Well. I did my best.”

   “Did your best with what?” Cordelia asked.

   “Oh, um... uh. Nothing,” Xander said. “Absolutely nothing.”

   “You’re a terrible liar, Harris,” Cordy said.

   “Yeah, but it’s not really my place to tell,” Xander said. “Besides, I don’t really know anything. Buffy just asked me to get her out of here, that’s all.”

   “How come?”

   “I don’t know.” Xander looked uncomfortable and shrugged, turning away to go back to his table.

   Cordelia followed. This was getting too weird. Between this and what had happened earlier with that argument with Spike and Angel and Buffy, she was starting to get a very strong suspicion that there was more here than met the eye.

   “Don’t you walk away from me, Harris,” Cordelia said following up to the table, without deference to Oz and Willow, who were sitting there. “What’s going on? Is there something between Buffy and Spike?”

   “No,” Xander answered.

   “No,” Willow answered.

   “No,” Oz answered.

   Cordelia looked at the three of them.

   “You’re all terrible liars,” she concluded. “All right, I don’t know how long this has been going on, but I’m pretty sure it’s been going on long enough. Whatever’s going on, however far it’s gotten, it’s not fair to Angel.”

   “You heard him before. A surrogate. He’s okay with it,” Xander said. “His idea, even, right?”

   “It’s complicated, Cordy,” Willow said. “There’s a lot of things going on.”

   “I’ll take care of it,” Oz said quietly.

   Everyone turned to stare at him. “What?”

   “I said I’ll take care of it,” Oz said. He looked at everyone around the table. “You’re right, it’s not fair. I think I’ve known longer than any of you. I’ll take care of it. I know what needs to happen.”

   It was a long speech, for Oz.

   “Don’t tell Angel,” he said to Cordelia. “You’re the wrong person to do it. Just let me handle it.”

   Cordelia took in a deep breath. Truth was, though she had her suspicions, she didn’t actually  _know_  what was going on. “Fine. But if it’s not taken care of by the end of tomorrow night, I’m doing something.”

   “All right,” Oz said. He turned to Willow. “Come on, we should go.”

   “Okay,” Willow said.

   “Mind if I—?” Xander asked Cordelia, half getting up to follow.

   “Please do,” Cordy snapped at Xander. She was sick of his lying face by then.  _Batman_ , of all stupid things! She was glad they had decided to leave.

   A moment later Angel came back in. “I couldn’t find her. Caught her scent, but it was tangled with something I couldn’t recognize. I think Spike might have been after her.”

   “Spike can’t hurt her,” Cordelia said.

   “I know, but–”

   “Did you ever tell Buffy?” Cordelia asked.

   “What?”

   “About that chip in Spike’s head?”

   “I told her he wasn’t killing,” Angel said. “Isn’t that enough?”

   Cordelia sighed. “You should have told her.”

   “Why? And where is everybody?”

   “They decided to call it a night,” Cordy said. “I think you should, too.”

   “What?”

   “I think you should go home,” Cordelia told him. “Wait for Buffy to get back.”

   “You think I should look harder to find her? I could probably track if I really concentrated, but I figured she’d come back after she slew whatever vampire she caught a whiff of.”

   “No,” Cordelia said. “She won’t be back tonight, and you should wait for her at home. Go on.”

   “Cordy—”

   “You said things had been better lately!” Cordy snapped, annoyed for reasons she couldn’t understand. “Prove it! Go home and wait for your wife.”

   Angel hesitated. “Are you angry with me?”

   “No,” Cordelia said, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t like what she almost knew. She didn’t like keeping what she almost knew from Angel. “I have to work.” She took a handful of dirty glasses off the table and fled into the back bar.

   There she dropped the dishes in the sink and covered her face with her hands. Why was this bothering her? What was wrong with her? It had almost nothing to do with her, and yet she was almost in tears over it. She had to do something. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him, but he had to know. It wasn’t fair what was happening to him, almost under his nose.

   She told her co-worker she’d take over dishes, and sent him out on the floor. She spent the rest of the night with her hands in sudsy water, trying to run away from the whole twisted thing, Angel and Buffy and her crazy, mixed up, completely unreasonable feelings about the whole disaster.

 

***    

 

   Spike and Buffy ran down the alleyway together, Buffy’s blood pounding in her ears, Spike giggling like a school kid.

   It was blocks later that they stopped. “You think we lost him?” Buffy asked.

   “I don’t think he was following,” Spike said, still chuckling, “or we wouldn’t have.”

   “I’m a bit faster than him,” Buffy panted.

   “Me, too,” Spike said, annoyingly not out of breath, though he seemed a bit giddy with the run.

   It always kept surprising her when Spike reminded her how well he knew Angel. “Really?”

   “Always have been. I did some racing at school. Carried over.”

   “I thought he was stronger than you.”

   “Oh, he is, but I’ve always had the edge on speed. Good thing,” Spike added, “or he’d have dusted me when I was still a fledge. Man’s got a vicious streak when he gets jealous.”

   “Oh, you had to bring that up,” Buffy snapped. “I swear, you like that I’m cheating.”

   “‘Course I do,” he said with an evil grin. “Don’t you?” He grabbed at her hip and pulled her forward. “Come on, doesn’t knowing it’s naughty on naughty get you all hot and bothered?”

   It did, but she hated admitting that.

   “You like sneaking around,” Spike said, going for her throat again. “If you didn’t you’d have stopped by now.”

   “Ungh,” Buffy shivered at his voice in her ear. “Don’t— Oh, god! What am I going to do?”

   “Run away with me and let me inside you again,” he hummed in her ear.

   Fuck. “I mean, what am _I_ going to do,” Buffy said, shaking off the bone deep erotic shiver that gave her. “I can’t go home, Angel might go back any second now that I’ve left the Bronze.”

   “So?”

   “So? I need a shower!” His mouth on her neck was distracting, making her want to melt again. “Get off.” She shoved him away.

   He let her, but he looked annoyed. “Do you shower me off every single time?”

   “Of course I do,” Buffy said. “As you should have guessed by the fact that Angel hasn’t come to kill you yet.”

   “I wouldn’t let him beat me,” Spike said with scorn.

   “He has your ring,” Buffy reminded him. “He’s invincible.”

   “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Spike said. Then he dove in like a bomber and pressed Buffy against the brick wall of the building. “I still win,” he grinned, and kissed her throat as deeply as if he was biting it.

   “Ow, oh! Oh, fuck,” Buffy muttered. She should be running from Spike, not from Angel, but he made her feel so fucking good!

   A moment later Spike kissed her eyes, and then her lips, and then whispered something that surprised the hell out of her. “I know a place you can shower, if you want,” he said. “Come on.”

   He let go and sauntered off, not checking to see if she was following. She knew she should run a mile and just get away from him. Maybe she should go back to her mom’s place... but she hated bringing Joyce into this again, and if Spike had a place....

   Buffy followed.

   They came up to a smallish apartment building, nondescript and unremarkable. The lobby door opened without a code or a key. Spike eschewed the elevator and darted up the stairs to the second floor, where he checked a door, sighed, and then pulled something off the top of the door frame. Two flat little –

   “Those are lock picks.”

   “It’s okay, I got an invite,” Spike said, and he settled in to work on the lock.

   “Spike.”

   “Just give me a second, this is an easy one.”

   Buffy knew she should just leave him to his nefarious breaking and entering, but by now she was curious. Her curiosity settled in for a battle with her moral fiber, but her moral fiber was weakened from being with Spike in the first place, and her curiosity won out. Spike knew this place well enough to keep lock picks just waiting on top of the door frame, but he also didn’t have a key. What was going on?

   “Do you actually know how to do this?”

   “Hey, give a bloke a chance,” Spike said. “She’s usually home, I generally just knock. I’m not gonna blast in her door, would be a waste of a hideout.”

   “Her who?”

   Spike didn’t answer, just fiddled with the lock until it finally popped open. “In you go, madam,” he said, dripping sarcasm. “A place for your toilette.”

   “I’ll show you a toilette,” Buffy grumbled, but she went inside as Spike replaced his lock picks. “What is this place?” Then she spotted a large, expertly framed photograph in a prominent place on the side board. “Is this Cordelia’s?” She recognized her senior photo, from before she was bitter and scarred.

   “What? She’s working.”

   “Spike!”

   “She won’t know we’re here.”

   “Spike, this isn’t nice!”

   “So? It’s got a shower. She won’t care.”

   “Since when do you have an invite to Cordelia’s place?”

   “Since she was friends with Harmony,” Spike said. “Harm and I....”

   He trailed off with an odd look on his face. Was he embarrassed? Not that it mattered what he felt. Buffy herself felt an icy grip in her chest, as if some invisible demon had just risen up from out of nowhere and grabbed at her.

   “Harm and you, what?” she asked.

   Spike shrugged.

   “What?” Buffy pressed. “Are you and Harmony still... are you....” Her mouth was dry.

   “Just take your shower,” Spike said, looking away from her.

    “Are you fucking Harmony?” she demanded.

   Spike looked uncomfortable. “Excuse me, is that your bloody business?”

   “You are!” Buffy shoved him across the room. “You’re still fucking Harmony, and you let me think—”

   “Now hang on, princess bride,” Spike snapped. “Who’s the one of us who’s married here?”

   “That’s different!” Buffy barked. “You know Angel and I can’t. You know I’m not just sleeping around! How could you do this to me?”

   “Do what?”

   “You fucking bastard!” Buffy yelled, shoving him again.

   “Bloody hell, Buffy, I’m not bloody doing anything, all right?”

   “You’re sleeping around on me!”

   “You’re sleeping around  _with me,_ ” Spike said. “Since when did we ever have anything that I could sleep around  _on_? Every time we do this you say it’s never happening again, what am I supposed to think?” He stood up to her, glaring into her face. “You think you have the right to talk to me about cheating, princess? I have to live with what you do every single day.”

   “I don’t do anything.”

   “You’re steeped in him,” Spike snapped. “You shower  _me_ off, but I smell him all over you. You think that’s easy? You think you have the right to bitch me out for once having some dumb bird, when you’re the one fawning over her one true love every bloody day?”

   “It’s not the same,” Buffy said.

   “No, it’s worse! Because I’ve done it before!” He pointed off in the general direction of Angel’s house and the Bronze. “Played second fiddle to Angel, you think that’s fun? You think I enjoy it? You think it doesn’t kill me, every second, knowing he came first in Dru’s heart, now in yours. You think that’s fun times for me?” He threw up his arms. “I hate it, I hate him, I hate this, every day that you go back to him, always and forever will go back to him. Doesn’t matter how happy we are, you and me, doesn’t matter what I do, what I do for you, what you do to me. Any time he decides to break it, he will, and I know that in my bones. You think that’s easy?”

   “Then why don’t you quit.”

   He pounced on her, dragging her body close to his. “Because I bloody can’t!” he cried, and pressed his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss.

   She was desperate as he was. The anger and the injustice and the fear that maybe Harmony had something she lacked, maybe because she was of his own species, maybe just because she wasn’t taken. He had her against the wall, and then against the floor, and then he was gnawing at her, at her lips, at her throat, pressing his body against hers, and they were writhing against each other.

   “You think I haven’t tried to quit you?” he growled down at her. “It’s just as hard for me to stop as it is for you, you self-righteous bitch.”

   “It’s wrong,” Buffy breathed up at him.

   “You’re so right,” he moaned. “So bloody wrong.”

   Back up her skirt again. This time the panties did not survive. Spike ripped them off her, and then he was inside her again, pushing, pushing, as if he’d own her that way even if he’d have nothing else. She twisted her body and squeezed at him, making him grunt.

   “She’s nothing,” he gasped then, as if she’d squeezed the words right out of him. “She’s nothing, she’s nothing, she’s always been nothing. I can’t even look at her without thinking about you.” He thrust inside her, push, push, push, his weight and his strength bearing down on her, making her insides clench up, clench around him, grip him tightly in her arms, reach under his coat to hold him close and secure. “May not have  _ever_ looked at her without thinking about you.”

   “Me?” she whispered up at him, and her voice sounded childlike to her ears.

   “She’s your age, blonde, same school. Think there’s no resemblance, you’re blind,” he said. “Blind as I was.” He wasn’t looking at her as he said any of this. Just moving away inside her, breathing in her scent. He sounded desperate. “Wasn’t until I had you that I realized how you don’t compare. Your scent. Your strength. Your power, oh, god, Buffy.” He looked down at her then. “What the fuck are you jealous for?”

   Jealous. She had been jealous. Couldn’t believe she’d been jealous – was still a little jealous, to be honest– over Spike.

   She didn’t really have the right to be. She knew that. All of Spike’s complaints were legitimate, but what did that mean?

   Well, it meant she should stop fucking Spike, but god, he felt so good right now. She rolled and he fought her, the bedroom door popped open as they fucked against it, and then they were rolling over and over atop Cordelia’s clothes. Spike yelled, which probably meant he’d come, though it was sometimes hard to tell with Spike. She made him yell a lot, and he didn’t always care whether he came or not. Regardless, he let her pull away, enough to peel his coat off and drag his shirt over his head. He dragged her skirt up over her breasts and grabbed her shirt off with it, leaving her in nothing but a bra. His pants got hooked on his boots, though.

   “God, can’t you get something easier to take off?”

   “They’re for combat, not sexy-times, love.”

   She ripped at a lace, and his boot came off, and he kicked off the other one and hoisted her onto Cordelia’s bed, dipping his mouth between her legs again, his absolute favorite thing. She lay splayed over the side of Cordelia’s bed, aware only of the feeling of Spike’s cool, wet, moving tongue as he lapped and tickled at her. She caressed his head, grinding up into him, and who cared who else he was doing, so long as he was doing her, right? Right?

   Wrong. The idea of him screwing Harmony felt like a betrayal, and it made her want to claim him. She ground up into him quickly, wanting to come fast, and she did, making her teeth clench as she tried not to scream too loudly and wake Cordelia’s neighbors.

   She dragged him up onto the bed with her then, and he crawled over her.

   “No,” she said, pushing him back on the bed. “No.” She petted his torso and held him down. He wasn’t hard, or not very hard, anyway, which probably meant he had come earlier. “I don’t like the idea of you with her,” she said. “Tell me you’re not with her.”

   “What if I am?”

   “Tell me you’re not,” she whispered, petting, petting, petting him. She wouldn’t look at his eyes. “Just tell me you’re not. Tell me it’s only me.”

   “It’s only you,” he said readily. “It’s only ever been you from the moment I saw you.”

   She looked up at him then. “Keep lying,” she said. “Tell me you’re mine.”

   “I’m yours,” he whispered. “I’ll always be yours, from dust until dust.”

   Buffy touched his face, sliding over his sharp cheekbones, his soft chin, feather-touching his Adam’s apple. “Is this mine?” she said, looking down at it.

   “Yes,” he said.

   Her fingers and eyes moved down to his collar bone, sliding over his smooth skin as if painting it. “And this?” she said, caressing his sternum. “Is this part mine?”

   “Yes.”

   “How about these?” She kissed one nipple and then the other, making him gasp and tense beneath her. “Are those mine?”

   “Yes.”

   She slid her hands back up and touched his biceps, then focused on his left arm, pulling it against her, running her cheek along it, kissing his wrist. “Is this mine?” she asked.

   “All yours.”

   “And these?” she asked, kissing at his fingertips.

   “Yours.”

   “How about this?” she asked, sliding one hand down to his navel.

   He grinned, cringing as if she were tickling him. “Yes, it’s yours,” he laughed. He lifted his right hand and caressed her hair. “And this is yours,” he added, letting her kiss his other wrist.

   She continued down his body, kissing at his hips, his thighs, sliding down his shins, gently touching his toes. Randomly she’d ask if this part or that part was hers, and he’d readily agree.

   “And this?” she asked, coming back up his legs to his groin. “How about these?” she said, gently cupping his balls.

   “Um. Yeah,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah, they’re....”

   “And this?” Buffy asked, touching the tuft of hair above his penis. “How about this?”

   “Yours, if you want it.”

   “And, um....” She reached down and slipped his foreskin back, revealing the head of his cock.  It twitched, growing harder under her fingers. “How about this? This mine?”

   “Absolutely,” he whispered.

   “And... this...?” She kissed it, sliding her tongue over the little slit at the head and down along the cleft. “Mine?”

   “Unh....”

   “And this?” She kissed deeper, pulling him along the back of her tongue before sliding back out. He swelled inside her mouth, filling her more and more as she suckled. She pulled away once he was full as he was going to get. “How about that?”

   “Every inch,” he begged.

   “It’s mine?” she asked again.

   “More.”

   “Mine?”

   “Yours.”

   “How about the rest of you?” she asked. “Are you mine?”

   He looked down at her, his blue eyes very bright. “I’m all yours, slayer. Every drop of blood and inch of flesh. Please.”

   She smiled. She did have him. Even if it was all lies, for right now... he was most assuredly all hers. She took his cock back into her mouth and sucked and sucked at it, feeling it full as she went up and down it, her mouth filling with saliva, dripping down along it as she suckled. The cool vampiric skin tasted alien and animal, and the soft but firm flesh against her lips was well worth kissing. It was fun hearing what she could do to him. She licked and lipped and suckled him like a popsicle, listening to his breath catch and his voice moan, his hand clenching in her hair. And then he grunted, grabbing at her head, his hips arching up against her as he thrust into her, and then spurted into her mouth, and she gulped him down, the taste sour with the slight coppery taste of blood. It was thick, and the texture was odd, but she didn’t find it entirely unpleasant.

   She idly wondered if Angel would taste the same way.

   Spike was panting for the breath he didn’t need when she looked back up at him. “So all that’s mine, huh?” she asked.

   “Mm-hm.”

   “Roll over,” she said. “I want to see the rest of you.”

   Spike rolled over readily, and she started at his feet, examining his narrow ankles, and his muscular calves, arching her hands over the muscles of his thighs, spending plenty of time examining his round, tight ass. That was a work of art, that ass. She found herself nuzzling it. He hummed slightly at the touch.

   “I always wanted to just explore a man,” she whispered.

   “Angel won’t let you?”

   “It’s too hard, he says.”

   “Gets him too hard, probably,” Spike muttered. “Tell him to tape it down, then you can claim all his bits.”

   “Is that what you want?” Buffy asked. “Me to claim him, too?”

   “You know that’s not what I want,” he muttered into the pillow.

   She ignored that for now, finally moving to his back, her fingers spidering up his spine, feeling the ribs behind his flesh, crawling up until she touched the piercing between his shoulder blades. She’d noticed it before, but between his black painted fingernails and punk jewelry, a piercing hadn’t seemed so out of the norm. She’d have expected more a nipple piercing or something, but no, he’d chosen his back.

   “Why’d you get this piercing?” she asked, touching it. “Why here? It’s weird.”

   He tensed, and his voice hardened. “Leave it.”

   The piercing hadn’t shifted as she’d touched it, like it would have if it was only attached to skin. It was deep. “I wasn’t going to take it out.”

   “You would have lost your hand if you tried,” Spike muttered. “Just leave it be.”

   Buffy went back to touching his back, sliding her fingers up and down his spine. “You don’t need to threaten me to leave your piercing in,” she said. “Something sentimental?” It didn’t look sentimental. It was silver, possibly surgical steel, with the number 017 engraved on it.

   “It’s a bomb, love,” Spike said quietly. “Please don’t joke around with it.”

   “A... what? A bomb?”

   “Yeah.” He shifted. “Come here.” He sat up and pulled her into his lap, burying his nose in her throat.

   “No,” she said firmly.

   “I’m just breathing you in,” he said, gently kissing her neck.

   “No more biting. I’m gonna have to put makeup on this hickey as it is. And what do you mean by a bomb?”

   Spike sighed and leaned against Cordelia’s headboard. “I mean a bomb. Explosive. Tiny little detonator someone implanted in my spine.”

   “Why do you have a bomb in your spine?”

   “Because if I try to take it out, it blows up, takes out my spinal cord, and I’m dust. You get it now? Don’t fiddle with it.”

   He wasn’t joking. “Someone implanted a bomb in your spine?” she asked. “Why?”

   “Because they don’t want it taken out,” he said. “It’s a tracking device. If they ever decide they want me, all they have to do is activate it, and they can hunt me down better than a bloodhound.”

   “They?” She stared at him. “Are these the commando guys Angel was seeing you with?”

   Spike nodded. “Yeah.”

   “So...” she pressed, “they’re not your allies. Or are they?”

   “They’re my jailers. Parole officers these days, I guess, since they started letting me out and about.”

   “Who are they?”

   He shrugged. “Call themselves the Initiative. Something military, or paramilitary. They don’t let me in on their secret meetings, so I don’t know much beyond what they set me to do.”

   “What do they set you to do?”

   “Kill demons,” Spike said. “Or catch them. That samishal you staked was something they wanted me to catch alive. You got me in no end of trouble killing it, slayer mine.”

   “Trouble? What did they do?”

   “What they usually do,” Spike said. “Wire me up, torture me a bit. Whatever the hell they want with me. My job is to just sit tight and let them.”

   “So why don’t you quit?” she asked, echoing her question of earlier.

   “Not that kind of job.”

   “But... can’t you leave?”

   “Did I mention the bomb?”

   “Yeah, but....” She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this. “Why don’t you just... you know....” She sliced her finger across her neck, indicating killing them.

   “Can’t, pet,” Spike said.

   “Why not?”

   “They got me all wired up inside, don’t they?” he said, sounding exhausted. “I thought sure Cordy would have told you about it by now.”

   “We’re not really close,” Buffy said, and then felt embarrassed, considering where they were. “So what is it? What does Cordy know that I don’t?”

   Spike regarded her for a long time. “I guess if I can’t trust you by now, I’m toast anyway. I can’t kill, Buffy,” he said tiredly. “Not humans. I even try, my head lights up like a Christmas tree, and I’m out for the count. Couldn’t defend myself from a six year old child, let alone fight those military sods.”

   “But you can hurt me.”

   “You’re not exactly human, now, are you?” Spike asked.

   “So....” She was trying to work this out. “So you aren’t like Harmony, then. You aren’t avoiding killing people just... because it was your choice. You actually can’t do it. You have a... spell or...?”

   “Chip,” Spike said. “Some kind of computer chip, I don’t know how it works. They shoved it in my head and laughed when it made me scream. Seriously, it’s a real bitch when it happens to you.”

   “You’re still a murderer,” Buffy realized. “You’re just being held back from it, like a serial killer in prison.”

   “Well, women marry them all the time,” Spike said with a sarcastic twitch to his mouth. “What’s the trouble? I’m trying to avoid pain, what’s so different between that and what Harm’s doing?”

   “But… you’re forced into being good.”

   “So are a lot of humans I’ve known,” Spike said. “You got a problem with it?”

   There had been too much blood under the bridge for her to just turn away now. He’d seen too much of her, tasted too much. She’d gained so much from him, his body and his acceptance and his straight out compassion for her situation. It had bothered her that he had been a killer, but Angel had been one, too. He’d gotten a soul and stopped. Angel had soul. He was trying to be good.

   Spike had no soul, so he couldn’t be good (right?) but she’d figured, at least he wasn’t actively being evil (right, right?) A killer who wasn’t killing was what? (She hadn’t wanted to think about that.) She’d thought he had chosen to stop, (does choice matter?) even though he’d had no soul to weigh him down with guilt. (Does guilt make it better?) Whatever Spike’s reasons had been for not killing (not killing? Think about what you’re saying!) they had been, if not moral, at least voluntary, the same as Harmony’s had been. (Harmony wasn’t good either.) Harmony had chosen not to kill for friendship with Cordelia (evil friendship,) and safety from Buffy as the slayer. (Was that really different from Spike?) Buffy had thought Spike was the same, and now it turned out he wasn’t. (Wasn’t he?)

   “Buffy?” Spike asked in the silence. “Do we have a problem?”

   Buffy stared at him. “I... I don’t know,” she said. She covered her eyes with her hands and squeezed her temples, as if trying to shut him out.

   “Buffy,” he said. “You knew what I was when this started.”

   She glared. “That doesn’t make it right.”

   “What would, then? If I was dosed up with a soul instead of this chip, would that make me good? If you were killing people instead of demons, would that make you evil?”

   “I slay evil creatures.”

   “You slay,” Spike said. “Evil creatures. That makes you good?”

   “And I’ve saved the world.”

   “And that does what? Makes you a hero?”

   “Yes!” Buffy snapped.

   “I’ve probably killed more demons and other vampires than you have,” Spike said. “I helped you defeat Angel when he wanted to destroy the world, so we’re together on that one. So this is me. I’ve saved the world. I kill vampires. Hell, I took out the Anointed One for you, just for a lark. If that’s what makes you  _good_ , I’m just as  _good_  as you are.”

   He had a point. But -- “You’re still evil.”

   “So? I was evil before you knew about this chip, I’m still evil now. You’re the one cheating on your man. My lady was the one cheated on me before she left, while I was faithful as a damned dog. I’ve done good. You’ve done bad. Good. Bad. Soul or not. Chip or choice. Does it matter why we do something, or only what we do?”     

   Buffy didn’t have an answer for that.

   “I ask again,” he said evenly. “What difference does it make?”

   Buffy glared at him for another long moment. “It should make a world of difference.” Then she crawled forward and laid her head on his bare chest. “Make it so I can’t think anymore?” she begged.

   “Oh, Christ,” Spike whispered. He lifted her hand off his chest and brought it up to his mouth to bite. He used only his human teeth, but she could feel his tongue and the tight pinch of him as he tasted her. Then he flipped her over and held her down, kissing her fiercely.

   They were just getting into it, her nails digging into his shoulder, his mouth all over her throat, their bodies deeply entangled when someone shouted, “Oh my god!” distracting both of them.

   Spike was the more startled. Buffy figured he wasn’t used to being surprised, vampire scent and hearing and all. “Harm!” he cried out. “What are you — uh — I can explain—”

   “Don’t bother!” Harmony shrieked. “The  _slayer?_  Ew! Just what... EW! Oh my god...  _Eww!_ ”

   “Harm, it’s not what it looks like,” Spike said, glancing at Buffy, naked, down at himself, naked, and then he tilted his head. “Well, maybe it is what it looks like, but I can explain it. Um—”

   “And you kept saying you just weren’t in the mood!” Harmony went on.

   Registering Harmony’s shock, along with Spike’s chagrin, Buffy had an ugly realization. “You  _are_ still with Harmony!” she accused.

   Spike stared at the ceiling. “I can explain,” he said again, to Buffy this time.

   “Don’t bother!” Buffy snapped. She surged up and out of the bed, grabbing at her clothes, shoving them on haphazardly. “Going on and on about heroes and goodness and cheating, and this whole time you’re just as evil as ever!”

   “You knew I was!” Spike shouted. “You’ve come to me all the same.”

   “I can’t believe you were with  _the slayer!_ ” Harmony screeched.

   “Shut up, pet, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Spike said. “Listen, what was I supposed to do? We weren’t together,” he said to Buffy. “You did everything you  _could_ to tell me we weren’t together.”

   “And you didn’t tell me you were cheating as much as I was!”

   “I wasn’t!” Spike said. “Harm’s nothing, she’s just a plate of cold meat.”

   “What, and I’m a hot lunch?” Buffy snapped, wrestling on her shirt. She skipped her bra and just shoved it in a pocket.

   “Well, you are hot,” Spike said, as if he couldn’t resist, and then he shook his head, dismissing that. “Not what I meant. Listen—”

   “Save it,” Buffy said. “I knew better than to get involved with you, I know better than to listen.”

   “Oh, so off you go again,” Spike said. “Am I supposed to believe it this time?”

   “ _What_ did you call me?” Harmony asked.

   “Oh, give it a rest, Harm,” Spike said.

   “I can’t believe you cheated on me!” Harmony cried. “I’m not putting up with this. You’re both dead!” And she vamped up, rushing Buffy with a full roar.

   “Are you serious?” Buffy had time to ask before Harmony body slammed her into the wall.

   Buffy’s wind was knocked from her, but she was surprised more than outclassed, and kicked up with her knee. She was annoyed Harmony was female. A male vampire would have crumpled at that. Harmony only grunted. Buffy could feel Harmony’s vampire teeth as they grazed at her throat.

   “Get off her!” Spike yelled, dragging Harmony back. Harmony squealed and wrestled with him, and Spike threw her aside.

   “I didn’t need your help!” Buffy yelled.

   “You don’t need anyone!” Spike yelled back.

   “I sure as hell don’t need you!” Buffy yelled back at him. She hauled back and punched him in the nose.

   Harmony hauled back and punched him, too.

   Spike was knocked backwards onto the floor beside the bed, naked, his nose bleeding, his face completely bewildered. “Bloody women,” he muttered to himself as Buffy snatched up her boots and stepped over him.

   “Hey!” Harmony yelled at Buffy. “I wasn’t through with you.”

   “Do you  _want_  me to pick up a stake, Harmony?” Buffy asked. “Don’t kid yourself.” She marched out the door.    

   “Yeah, well… don’t get too comfortable, slayer!” Harmony shouted after. “And you can say goodbye to me, too, you cod!” she added to Spike. Buffy rather thought Harmony meant cad, but it sort of didn’t matter at this stage.

   She slammed her way out of Cordelia’s apartment, furious and shaking and annoyed with herself for not just taking her shower and going. She shoved her boots on outside, her hands too shaky to even do up the zippers. Now she knew about Harmony, and she wished she didn’t. What did it matter, anyway? What did it matter that Spike was still sleeping with Harmony? What did it matter that Spike was doing anything at all? What did Spike matter? What was Spike? What was the matter?

   Why was she crying?

   She wanted to go back and stake Harmony. She wanted to go back and stake Spike. She wanted to march up to the nearest cliff and throw herself off so she didn’t have to think anymore.

   She wanted her mom.

   Buffy put her head down and and ran to her mother’s house, nevermind how Joyce might look at her.

 


	16. New Information

  
  


   The three friends were quiet as they drove to Xander’s house. They dropped him off first, and Oz glanced at Willow. “So Xander says he found out tonight,” Oz said. “How long have you known?”

   “About Buffy? A few days,” Willow said. “How long have you...?”

   “Since it started, I think,” Oz said. “The first night she climbed into your room. I caught the scent.”

   “You didn’t say anything.”

   “Not my thing to say.”

   They drove in silence for a minute. “What do you think about it?” Willow asked.

   Oz shrugged.

   “Do you think it’s wrong for her to get involved with someone soulless?”

   “I think it’s wrong for her to get involved with someone other than her mate. Husband,” he added. “But she has good reasons.”

   “She really does. This thing with Angel....”

   “It’s hard,” Oz said. “I know.” He glanced at her. “Thing I can’t figure is that you’re okay with it.”

   “I’m not okay with it,” Willow said. Then she sighed. “Well, maybe I am okay with it. In the sense that Buffy’s my friend, and I love her.”

   Oz nodded.

   “And I love you,” Willow added.

   “I love you, too,” Oz said.

   Willow swallowed. She smelled nervous. “Do you think Angel will be mad?”

   “Yeah,” Oz said. “But I think he should know. She should tell him.” He looked over at Willow. “I should have told you.”

   “I understand,” Willow said. “I... I didn’t at first, but... I think I understand now. You and... that werewolf. You were the same. And you had so much in common, it was hard not to want more than was... more than it was,” she said instead.

   They had talked about this before, but this was the first time Willow had seemed quite so understanding about it. Sometimes Oz missed Veruca. But most of the time he just wished it hadn’t gone down so harshly that Willow felt so wounded by it. “Yeah,” Oz said.

   Willow still smelled nervous. “There’s something I should tell you,” she said.

   “What’s that?”

   “You know my friend Tara? The other witch I told you about?”

   “Yeah.”

   “She’s a lesbian.”

   It seemed an odd thing to bring up, but Oz only shrugged. “Okay.”

   “I think... with us studying magic together so much... I think she wants something more than it is.”

   Oz thought about this. “Oh.”

   “I think... I might want something more than it is, too,” Willow said, her voice really quiet.

   He was afraid he had misheard. “Come again?”

   “I might want something more with Tara,” Willow said, a little louder, but she sounded nervous as hell.

   “Oh,” Oz said again.

   “Nothing’s happened yet,” Willow said quickly. “Nothing. Nothing real. Just magic stuff, it’s just... sometimes... I wish... I could kiss her,” she said, her voice dropping really low again.

   “Oh.”

   There was a long silence. “Are you mad at me?” Willow asked.

   “Are you breaking up with me?” Oz countered.

   “No,” Willow said. “I just... I wanted you to know that I... wanted.”

   Oz stared at the road for a moment. They were almost at the college already. “Do you want what you want?” he finally asked.

   “I... do,” Willow said quietly. “But I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to leave you. And I don’t want....” She started crying.

   Oz always felt like he was being murdered when Willow cried. It was like the wolf inside him started to howl along with her in sympathy, and it felt like the full moon. He started breathing harder. “It’s okay,” he said.

   “No,” Willow whimpered. “It’s not. I can tell you’re hurt.”

   “No, I’m... confused,” Oz said. “Can you just give me a minute to process?”

   “Okay,” Willow said. She sat in the passenger seat and continued to sniffle, and Oz drove. His mind was a whirlwind of human and wolfy thoughts, and they both counteracted and twisted. Meanwhile Willow wouldn’t stop crying. She wasn’t sobbing, but he could see her touch her eyes, and he could smell her tears. This wasn’t a small thing she was talking about. It was really torturing her.

   They spent the rest of the drive in silence. Finally he got to the college and parked the van.

   For a long moment after the van stopped they just sat there, sniffling or staring into the night. Finally Oz steeled himself and turned to her. He wanted to make sure he had this straight. “Okay,” he said. “So... you have this witch who you share a lot in common with. And she’s a lesbian and she wants more. And you want more. But you don’t want to leave me.”

   “No,” Willow said.

   Oz asked what was, to him, a very important question. “What if I had come to you with this about Veruca?” he asked. “What would you have done?”

   “I....” Willow wiped her eyes and paused a moment. “I would have been hurt,” she said. “And then... I would have wanted to meet her.”

   “You had met her.”

   “I mean again,” Willow said. “With you. With this between us. But Veruca didn’t like me, so... I mean that was obvious.”

   “Okay. What if she had liked you?”

   There was a long silence.

   “Would you have been, say... willing for her and I to be together during full moon?”

   Willow swallowed. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe if she liked me. Maybe during full moon.”

   “What about other times?”

   Willow sniffed. “I would have been really scared you’d leave me. She was so much better than I am....”

   “She wasn’t,” Oz said. “You’re wonderful. There was just things she had that... I couldn’t get from you.”

   Willow sniffled again.

   “And there are things this Tara has that you can’t get from me.”

   “I still love you!” Willow said desperately. “I mean, and there’s things you can give me that I’m sure Tara can’t. It’s not– I don’t....”

   “But there’s things you want,” he said. “I....” He swallowed. He wanted to give to Willow what he hadn’t been able to give to himself. Because after all, she was right. Veruca hadn’t liked Willow, and did everything in her power to get Oz to not like Willow, either. To not like himself, even. He could never have been with her as a man. It was only the wolf that had wanted her. It was just that the wolf was always with him, and she was the one who had let him embrace that. And he was embracing that now, accepting his wildness, his scent. He wished there was some way he could control it better, but he was slowly learning that through research and things here in Sunnydale, with Willow beside him. But sometimes he still wished he could be learning more about the wolf with Veruca, too.

   How could he deny Willow’s magic the same way he had tried to deny his wolf? All that had happened was it had torn him up. Torn up his mind, his life, his relationship with Willow. He couldn’t do that to her.

   “I think I want to meet Tara,” he finally said.

   Willow looked up.

   “Does she know how you feel?” Oz asked.

   “Not yet,” Willow said. “Because we were together, you and me. But... she might suspect.”

   Oz nodded. “Okay. Well, I think... you should tell her how you feel. About her, and about me. And then... I think I should meet her.”

   “Do you mean that?” Willow asked. “Do you mean... if... if it’s okay with Tara that I can... that we can...?”

   “It might not be okay with Tara,” Oz said. “She might not want to share you.”

   “But you’d be okay with... sh-sharing?”

   Oz looked back out into the night again. “I’m already sharing you,” he said quietly. “You already love her. Or like her, anyway.” He looked at her. “Do you love her?”

   “I....” Willow started to cry again, but she wiped her eyes. “I think I’m starting to.”

   “Then you’re already split,” he said. He stared at Willow. “I didn’t love Veruca,” he said. “But the wolf felt he needed her. I was... torn. The wolf in me and the human couldn’t stop fighting and I... couldn’t do right by either of them. I don’t want you to have to fight the witch in you.”

   “I don’t know if it’s the same.”

   “I don’t either,” Oz said. “But I know wanting. And I know that if I said no... even if you did nothing, the wanting wouldn’t go away for you. One way or another, if I said no, it would cause resentment or guilt. Either you’d resent being kept from what you wanted… or you’d feel guilty if you got it. Like I did. So I’m gonna say... let’s see.”

   Willow was crying and smiling at the same time, and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. It was really cute, actually.

   “Thank you for not lying to me,” Oz said quietly then.

   “Goddess, I love you!” Willow whimpered, and leaned over in the car seat to hug him.

   “I love you, too, Will,” Oz whispered into her hair. “I always will. No matter what else happens.”

   He went with her to her dorm, and they made love tenderly and desperately, whispering their love over and over again. Whatever happened with Tara, they knew how they felt about each other.

   But Oz lay awake after, staring at the ceiling. Willow had done the right thing, coming to him about Tara. Buffy was too torn to do the right thing about Spike. And Spike....

   Oz was afraid Spike was like Veruca. He didn’t like Angel. There was something very wrong in that.

   Oz got up and dressed, heading back to the van, all ready to head back to Bronze. He had a plan to try something he usually never tried. But before he even got to his van, he caught the scent. He stopped and sniffed, and then closed his eyes, letting something happen that he usually tried to keep locked down.

   He let the wolf in.

   Just a trickle, not enough to lose control. But he concentrated on his senses, and there it was. The strange, demonic scent of the vampire, like incense and honeysuckle. He followed the scent on foot across the campus.

   He had to try and talk to Spike.

 

***

 

   Spike felt ill. Really ill. It wasn’t as if he’d been sleeping with Buffy long enough for Harmony to matter. The fact that he hadn’t called things off with Harmony was more an oversight than anything else. He hadn’t even had time to sleep with Harmony, let alone the inclination. So okay, after the first time with Buffy he’d tried to go back to Harm, but it had been unsatisfying. After the second and third times with Buffy there’d been no desire at all. Now after this fourth time, he just wished he’d told the dumb bird to fly.

   But it had been easier to keep Harm on the side. Not to sleep with, but for lairs. Cordy’s lair, Harm’s little cave. Breaking up with the bint would have just caused troubles he wanted to avoid. He hadn’t thought of what would happen if Buffy and Harmony met. How the hell would they meet?

   He shouldn’t have brought Buffy to Cordy’s place. But he hadn’t wanted her to go off again and leave him, and it wasn’t as if he could have his beloved Buffy shower off with a garden hose in the cemetery, or in one of the cold spigots in the sewers.

   He winced as that dumb word  _beloved_  crept into his thoughts. It was a stupid word, anyway. Buffy never wanted to see him again.

   God, he felt ill.

   He wasn’t hungry, at all – Buffy’s reaction to Harmony had sucked his appetite – but he realized that he was probably about to suffer withdrawal. He needed his blood fix, or he’d be in trouble. Dammit.

   He headed back to the Initiative entrance, which to his annoyance was across Buffy’s campus. Because apparently he needed to be reminded of Buffy again.

   The Initiative was quiet, but he pounded on the right doors, and eventually one of the underlings brought him an annoyed looking Riley Finn. “What the hell do you want?”

   “My blood, what did you think?”

   “I thought you were helping us of your own free will now.”

   “Yeah, doesn’t mean my addiction just dries up and withers away, does it?” Spike asked. “You’re the one who got me on the stuff, you get to keep it up.”

   Someone pushed through into the room. “Oh, good, it’s 17,” said Walsh as she came in. “Don’t give him his ration yet, I want a clean blood sample.”

   “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Spike said. “I’ve agreed to help you. I take out your baddies for you. I come back, take every bit of indignity you push at me, why the hell do you need my blood, too? Don’t you have enough on file yet?”

   “This isn’t for a file,” Walsh said. Then she smiled, and Spike was struck by how wicked it looked. Seriously, Walsh could beat even Dru out on the wicked grin. There was something less pure evil, and more self-righteously selfish about it which gave him the wiggins. A vampire  _knew_  it was evil. The horror of Walsh was, she thought she was right. “Would you like to see what I need your blood for, then?”

   “Yeah,” Spike said. “All right, then.”

   “Riley, you can come, too,” Walsh said. “It’s time to let you know what all your training has been in aid of.”

   Spike followed the so-called doctor out of the usual interrogation room, across the Initiative complex, and through a door marked 314. There he saw a corpse on a table. A demon corpse. No. Not a demon corpse. Human? It didn’t smell human, but it didn’t smell strictly demonic, either.

   “Here we are, then,” Walsh said. “Spike, why don’t you sit down at that table, and I’ll take your blood sample.”

   He looked up. Spike? She’d called him by his name? Since when did Walsh do that?

   “And Riley, you can help,” Walsh said with a smile. She busied herself taking out the IV needles and strapping the tourniquet around Spike’s arm.

   “What is this?” Finn asked.

   Walsh seemed insufferably pleased with herself. “This,” she said. “This is the future.” She set up a pint bag to collect Spike’s blood, and leaned back, releasing the tourniquet. Spike cringed as his blood slowly filled up the bag. He still hated giving up his blood. Blood was bloody life, wasn’t it.

   “Riley. Spike. This is Adam,” Walsh said, gesturing to the corpse. “Adam was my protege. But he was killed in a horrible training accident. A training session that you later survived, Riley, with my help.”

   “Was that after you started my vitamin regime?” Finn asked.

   “After that, and the modifications I’ve made to your nervous system.”

   Finn looked confused. “You mean my heart surgery?” he finally asked. “I thought you said there was a hole in my heart, and if I didn’t have it corrected, I couldn’t stay in the military.”

   “That was partially true,” Walsh said. “You were born with a small hole in your heart. Which made you the perfect subject for my biotech alterations.” She looked from Spike to Riley and over to Adam again. “You three are my legacy. You, with your natural demonic gifts and my tech, your demonic tendencies controlled. Contained. You, Spike, are my left hand.”

   Spike didn’t think much of this.

   “Riley,” she said, turning to Finn. “You, with your human abilities enhanced, heightened. Your endurance, stamina, physical strength. You are my right hand.”

   Finn, unlike Spike, looked somewhat pleased, even if there was still confusion in his eyes.

   “And Adam. Adam is the union of both. My strengths, my skills in demonic and human technology come together in him. Adam will be my heart. The three of you united as brothers will forward human initiative, bring demons out of the darkness, bring the now into the future! It will be transcendent.”

   _Okay,_  Spike thought.  _Someone’s the mayor of crazy town, and it’s not Dru._  He was impressed.

   Impressed and terrified.

   “There,” Walsh said, and she went back to Spike to cut off the blood flow to the IV bag. “Riley, fetch Spike his blood. We’ve got everything I needed.” She took the bag of fresh vampire blood and then hung it on an IV hook above the demonic corpse. Spike shuddered. This thing was of his own blood? And he thought being related to Angel was a curse. “Adam is almost ready,” Walsh said. “Just a few more infusions of demon blood should give him the strength he needs. All I need to do is program his mind.”

   The demonic/human arm of the corpse jumped, but was held back by a strap on the bed.

   “Shh, my son,” Walsh whispered. “Not yet.” She looked back at Riley. “He nearly activated prematurely, but I managed to quell him. If he had been activated before full programming, there’s no telling what he would have thought he was made to do. But I have him quiescent now.” She smiled again at Riley and Spike. “It won’t be long now, my children. Soon you can unite together, and bring humans and demons together into the light of the future!”

   “Well, that sounds right glorious, don’t it?” Spike said with a placating smile of his own. He stood up, trying to keep his face light. “I just can’t wait to start the subjugation... uh, that is the  _enlightenment_  of human and demon kind. With my brother here. Riley.” He nodded at Finn.

   “I’m glad,” Walsh said evenly. “I’ll expect you here for the activation.”

   “Of my other brother,” Spike said. “Adam, right?”

   “Yes.”

   “Adam, Spike and Riley,” Spike said, a slightly hysterical giggle escaping his voice. “Right. It’ll be wonderful. Um. But I think I’d better be getting my blood allotment now, yeah, don’t you think, Finn? I mean, don’t want to be incapacitated for the big moment, do I?”

   Finn looked up from where he was staring at Adam’s stitched together corpse. No, not corpse. With that much vampire blood in him he was probably at least as strong as Spike, possibly more. And with human strengths as well. What else could Adam do? Walk in the sunlight? Gain strength as he grew? And what about the tech? Walsh’s tech had quelled Spike, and enhanced Riley. What the hell had she done to her little pet project here? He was afraid to find out.

   “Finn,” Spike snapped. “My blood? Come on, bro. Time for us to be getting on with it?”

   “Oh, yeah,” Finn said.

   He stood up and Spike took his arm, leading him toward the door. He was afraid the bloke was in shock. He pushed the door open and turned around to look at Walsh. “We’ll be seeing you later, Mum. In time for the big event, yeah? Come on, brother mine.”

   Spike led Finn back through the Initiative complex, frequently pulling on the bloke’s sleeve. “Come on, Finn, don’t bail on me now,” Spike hissed. He pushed open the door of his usual debriefing chamber and tossed Finn into a chair. “You realize your Initiative darling Walsh is a few aces short of a full deck, right?”

   “She... she knows what she’s doing,” Finn said slowly. “She... has a vision.”

   “Finn!” Spike snapped. “She’s nuttier than a box of cashews.”

   “That’s not fair. She’s brilliant. She developed your chip, she’s brought me to peak physical condition....”

   “Has she, now,” Spike said. He steeled himself and then tried something. Bloody hell, this was going to hurt. He vamped up and dove for Finn’s arm.

   “What the hell are you doing?” Finn asked as the bite struck. He shoved Spike away, but he needn’t have bothered. The chip had taken care of stopping him.

   Spike felt as if he’d been punched in the head by Thor. Screaming out with the pain of it he let himself go to his knees, but it was worth it. He’d gotten a taste of Finn’s blood. “Bloody hell, she has you more juiced up than I am,” he groaned, and spit the drugged blood out of his mouth. “And you’ve just been taking this stuff as vitamins?”

   “Uh…” Finn seemed confused, torn between Spike’s question, and indignation at the bite. “There was a weekly injection,” he said. “I thought it was inoculations. A staggered administration. For when they send me to other countries. You’re telling me it’s drugs?”

   Spike rolled his eyes. Not only was Finn doped up, he was thick as a bloody municipal phone book. “No kidding it’s drugs. Amphetamines, steroids, dunno what all is in that cocktail. All I know is I wouldn’t dare eat you even if I could. What the hell did you think was happening to you?”

   “Training,” Finn said.

    Spike sighed. This was already out of hand. Humans doped up into demon strength. Demons weakened down to fluffy bunnies. Some unholy amalgam of the two brought into lurid reality. Spike may have been willfully evil, but like he’d told Buffy, he had a fondness for the world itself. And this plan of Walsh’s would definitely put a crimp on, say, Manchester United. “We’ve got to find some way to stop her,” Spike said.

   “Wait a minute, stop her?” Finn said. He looked up. Now the shock was out of his eyes, replaced by his usual scorn. “I’m not going to stop her. She’s my superior.”

   “Finn!”

   “You’re new to this organization, you don’t know how chain of command works.”

   “I know how it works!” Spike shouted. “I’ve been in command of gangs of minions since before you were bloody born! Walsh is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs!”

   Finn stood up. “Now see here, you trumped up evil maggot. You think just because you have that chip in your head that you can say what you want about your superiors?” He shook his head. “Ours is not to reason why.”

   “Don’t quote poetry at me,” Spike said wearily, and he closed his eyes. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the training, maybe it was the damn chip in his heart affecting his nervous system, or maybe it was just that Riley was thick enough to stand a spoon upright, but he had gotten fully over his shock at finding all this out and had closed his mind to the insanity he had just seen. Walsh was his superior. He wasn’t going to listen to a word.

   “I don’t care what you think about her,” Riley said. “There’s nothing you can do, regardless. I never bought your  _all one team_ routine. I still don’t.”

   Spike tried to think how to get out of this. If nothing else, he was going to have to be a thousand miles away when this went down. Except he had this chip. And the explosive tracker. And the addiction. Well, that was one thing he could do something about.

   “I’m sorry,” Spike said, hoping he sounded even halfway believable. “I get the dream she’s got, it’s just... humans and demons? Working together? Do you really think it’ll go down that way?” Maybe if he sounded reasonable about the whole thing, Finn would forget his outburst.

   “I don’t know,” Finn said. “Maybe not without a lot of planning and commitment. But Walsh has a vision, and she knows what she’s doing. And so do her superiors, and their superiors, all the way up to the top brass itself. So we do what they tell us.”

   “Well enough,” Spike said. “Well enough, then. I’ll toe the line for the good of humanity and demonkind both. Gotta admit, it is a pretty impressive vision.” He didn’t know if Finn was buying this. “I guess I’m all ready for my blood now.”

   Finn went to the cooler where it was kept and unlocked it, handing Spike a fresh, clean packet of drugged up human blood.

   “Cheers, mate,” Spike said. He held the packet to his mouth and sucked on it, making loud smacking noises as he headed out the door.

   The moment he was through the door he bolted, getting out of the Initiative as fast as he could before someone decided to lock him up until the big reveal day. He got ready to toss the packet of blood far into the woods, and then changed his mind. He could lose his nerve and go back and get it. He ripped it open and let the contents dribble into the dirt, then kicked them into the forest mulch with his feet. Now he just had to figure out what to do about this tracking chip....

   Well, first things first. He knew he’d have to get sodding pissed in order to withstand his withdrawal.

   


	17. Drunken Decisions

   Spike was hiding in his car, which he had stashed in a cave opposite the campus, when his attempt at complete drunkenness was interrupted by an idiot. He was sure it was an idiot; who else interrupts a vampire when he’s trying to get pissed? The door to the back seat opened, and Spike fell out onto the cave floor with a shower of bottles. He was on his third. The second bottle hadn’t hit yet, but the third was almost full. He’d stashed a lot of whiskey in his DeSoto.

   “What the hell do you want?” he said from the ground. He looked up. Hey, he knew that face. “Wolfboy! Wolfboy, hungry like the wolf.” He felt surprisingly glad to see Ozzy. If that was his name. “Oz, Ozzy, ‘ _Ozymandias, king of kings, look on my works you mighty and despair_ ’.... Despair....” He nearly burst into tears. All he knew was despair.... No. He threw it away. He almost threw his bottle away, too. “No!” he yelled. Bottle safe, he cuddled it. But random Victorian poetry wasn’t going to answer his questions. “What you what?”

   “Excuse me?”

   “What you want,” Spike corrected himself. “Want. You ever want anything?” he asked Oz. “Wanting is a bugger, you know that? Buggering, that’s more fun. More fun than wanting, wanting, ‘ _holding the Wolf in chace_ ,’ hunter.” He looked up at Oz again, his head a little clearer. That was going to be a problem. He tried to take another swig of his whiskey, but it threatened to spill, because gravity didn’t work like that. Shame. “What did you want?”

   “I came to talk to you,” Oz said. “And I just had a long walk tracking you, so don’t say whatever you’re going to say that will try to see me off.”

   Not saying words. Spike could do that. He rolled over and leaned his head against the side of the car, bottles clinking around him as he moved. He held his full bottle firmly in his fist and blinked slowly and deliberately at Oz.

   “Are you too drunk to hear me?” Oz asked.

   “Nope,” Spike said. “Hear you jusht fine.” He took a deep breath and used it to pretend he wasn’t drunk for a moment. “What did you want, Wolfboy?” he said, acting sober. Should win a bloody Oscar for that. “Oscar the Grouch,” he said randomly. Heh. Funny. He held back his laugh.

   “You’re having an affair with Buffy,” Oz said.

   Was he? He wasn’t sure anymore. “What’s it to you?”

   Oz sniffed, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of the whiskey. “Well,” he said. “I think you should stop it.”

   Spike scoffed. “Oh, do you now? And what do you know of me and the slayer? Poor chit’s not getting what she needs at home.” Neither was Spike, come to think of it. Actually... he had no home. Oh, that was bollocks, that was, a bloke needed a home, didn’t he? He should get a decent lair. Be able to make a better Buffy shrine for the slayer that got away. Or maybe he should kill her, if he couldn’t bed her anymore. That sounded fair, right?

   “She’s not getting what she needs from you, either,” Oz said.

   Spike shook his head. What were they talking about? Right, Buffy and Angel and Spike. “How the hell do you know?”

   “I’m going to use small words,” Oz said. “Buffy loves Angel. Buffy is cheating on Angel. This is bad.”

   “So?”

   “It’s a bad thing for Buffy to be doing.”

   “ _So?_ ” Spike asked again, louder this time. This was taking too long. He sucked firmly on the bottle so his drunk wouldn’t escape.

   “So every day,” Oz said. “Every hour. Every minute is a lie she has to tell. Every time she looks at him, every time she talks to him, every time she moves, she’s lying to him. And every lie. Every single lie, every second, every heartbeat, is a curse.”

   “Oh, give me a break,” Spike said. He took another swig of his whiskey. “What the hell do you know about it?”

   “I know about curses,” Oz said. “I’m a monster just like you are.”

   “And I love it,” Spike said. “You get yourself locked up, right?”

   Oz stared at him. “I love the wolf, too,” he confessed. “Even though it can do evil. I know about wanting something dangerous. Something you shouldn’t. I know about cheating on the one you love. Don’t make Buffy carry you like this. Don’t make her lie for you. It’s not fair.”

   “I don’t care what the hell happens to Angel,” Spike said. “He can hear lies all the time, he deserves them.”

   “It’s not fair to  _Buffy_ ,” Oz said. “This isn’t about Angel. The lies are poison. Not to him, to her.”

   “‘S not poison,” Spike said.

   “You may not have a soul, but Buffy does,” Oz said. “And every lie is poisoning  _her_  soul. That means every second is poisoning her soul, because every second with Angel she’s telling a lie. Maybe you don’t care about that. But if you’re the man I remember you to be, if you’re the man who would die for Drusilla, if you’re someone who cares about his lover... you should.”

   Spike stared at him for a long minute.

   “Just think about it,” Oz said. “I’ll... leave you to your evening.” He nodded to Spike and headed back out into the night.

   Spike tilted his head back and took another swallow of his whiskey. Stupid wolf boy. Stupid wolf boy trying to tell him about lies and love and wanting. What the hell did he know about wanting? Spike knew wanting. Wanting was hell.

   He wanted the damn blood. He wanted it. He couldn’t stop wanting it, and he couldn’t stop wanting Buffy, and Oz was right, he had tortured her, poisoned her, and maybe he’d have thought that was a good thing once, but not with his own poison in his system, making him want and want and want.

   He had to get out of here. He had to do something. He wanted two things. He wanted his fix, and he wanted Buffy, and he couldn’t let himself get the damn fix, so he forced himself to go the other direction, go to Buffy, go to find Buffy, go to Buffy’s house, find Buffy. He staggered forward into the waning night, dragging himself and his unwilling body in the opposite direction from his fix. The walking threatened to kill his drunk, so he made sure to keep it well oiled, sipping from his bottle at regular intervals. Sometimes he had to stop and focus carefully on the bottle. Occasionally he would lose his balance.

   “No, no, baby, don’t escape on me,” he’d say when the bottle threatened to spill. “Come on, pet, I need you, you know how I need you. That’s it, baby, give us another kiss.” He nursed off it like it was the blood he wasn’t going to get.

   He crawled forward for a while, dragging the bottle carefully, and found a tree to haul himself back to his feet on. Then he pitched forward, catching himself on another tree, then on a street light, then on a fence post, dancing with the gravity of the rapidly yawing and pitching ground. The ground was trying to escape his feet. Well, of course it was. He was pure evil, wasn’t he? Of course the ground was trying to escape him. Everything tried to escape him.

   Buffy was trying to escape him.

   Maybe if he told the truth himself the lies would dry up. That’s how it was supposed to work, right? The good vanquished the evil, and he could do good, he could do a good thing, he could make the lies go away, the poison go away, and then the wanting would go away, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

   Something had to make it all go away.

 

***

   

   Angel was pacing.

   Buffy hadn’t come back yet. He’d followed Cordy’s advice and waited at home for her, but it had been hours now. It was getting on towards sunrise, and Buffy still wasn’t home. He shouldn’t have listened. He should have followed Buffy’s scent, he should have tracked her down and tried to help her slay... whatever she was off fighting. Of course, if she wanted to, she could have called him. He checked his cellular phone, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought there hadn’t been any calls on it. He pressed a few buttons on it almost randomly, but he had trouble with touch tones, and all he got was some operator telling him he’d pressed something wrong. He’d thought he had Buffy’s number memorized.

   He put the cellular down.

   Then he heard a noise. It was not Buffy’s tread on the stairs. It was a heavy thump of a body rolling down the steps in the jasmine garden. He rushed to help with the creature Buffy must have thrown down there, only to find Spike, stinking of whiskey, disheveled and muddy, mourning a broken bottle in his hand. “You served well, friend,” he was saying to the bottle. “Shh, don’t try to talk.”

   “You,” Angel said darkly.

   “You!” Spike said, sounding almost pleased. He staggered to his feet. “You, you, you! I ‘as looking for you!” he staggered into Angel’s arms.

   Angel stood there, bewildered at Spike’s hug for a moment. Spike hadn’t hugged him since he’d been a fledge. He pushed Spike off, and Spike hauled back a hand and punched him in the face. It was weak and ineffectual as a toddler, but was considerably less bewildering.

   He thought about hitting him back, but it seemed cheap. “What the hell do you want, Spike?”

   “I wanted to tell you I was sleeping with your bird,” Spike said. He stopped. “Did I say that already?”

   “No.”

   “Was something important to say after all thiss time.” He smacked his lips on the word time. “Time, time. Time changes it all up, don’t it, Angelus? I was sleeping with your bird.”

   “And I let you,” Angel said. “There’s no making me jealous over Dru this late in the game. You were only ever her toy. Hell, I told her to make you.”

   “Not Dru, I had Dru, until you buggered it up. Didn’t make her yours again. Just buggered it all up. We were happy,” he pointed out, sounding annoyed. “But shhe wasn’t happy. Shhe’s not happy. Not happy with you.”

   “Well, I don’t see Dru here with you, either.” Angel pointed out smugly.

   “Don’t see Buffy here with you, do you? He. Doesn’t. Know,” Spike sang drunkenly.

   “Don’t know what?”

   “You never even suspected?” Spike asked, his voice slurring. “I’ve been marking her up and bruising her over and smacking her down over and over again, and you never even looked under her sleeves? What kind of jealous fuck are you? You’re dumb. Dumb, you think just because she doesn’t tell you that it doesn’t happen.” He chuckled. “It happens. It always happens. Darla lied and Dru lied and Buffy lied and now here we are, another bird between ush.” He inched forward. “Shh, it’s okay. You can’t make a happy anyway. Not for you, not for her.”

   A bad taste started to develop in the back of Angel’s throat. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

   “Buff-y,” Spike sang again. “I’ve been shagging Buff-y.”

   Angel broke his jaw.

 


	18. Not Alone

   Buffy spent the night at her mother’s house, and spent breakfast actually discussing the situation with Joyce. How hurt she was when she thought Spike still had a girlfriend. How confused she was about the whole situation.

   “It does seem a little hard on Spike to have to break up with a girlfriend when you have a husband,” Joyce pointed out.

   “I know, but I don’t like it. It makes me uncomfortable.”

   “Uncomfortable? In what way?” Joyce pressed.

   Buffy looked down. “Jealous,” she admitted.

   Joyce didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything so loudly and eloquently that Buffy blushed.

   “It’s not the same!” she cried.

   “You’re right,” Joyce said. “It’s not the same. Spike has never made any vows to be true and faithful to you. He’s risking his life for you instead, every time you touch him. You have to decide what that means. Both for him, and for you. And for Angel,” she pointed out.

   “I don’t know,” Buffy said glumly over her coffee. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

   “I know you don’t,” Joyce said. “But you’re going to have to make some decisions. And from the looks of things, you’re going to have to make them fast.”

   “I know.” She looked at the time. “I should call home, Angel’s probably worried about me.” She went to the phone and dialed Angel’s cell number. No answer, but that didn’t surprise her. He’d probably forgotten to plug it in again, and he’d never managed to set up a voicemail. She dialed the land line instead.

   Busy signal. She checked her own cell phone. No calls. She went back to her coffee and tried again a minute later.

   Still busy.

   “I’m gonna go home,” Buffy said. “I wonder if Angel left the phone off the hook or something.”

   “Buffy....” Joyce said.

   “What?”

   “Be careful. If you need to come home....”

   “Mom, don’t be paranoid.”

   “Why don’t you take my car?” Joyce said, surprising Buffy. She hadn’t lent her the car in a long time. “I’ll call Mary to take me to the gallery.”

   “You sure?”

   “Yeah, just drop it off later tonight.” She handed over the keys.

   Buffy drove thoughtfully back to Crawford Street, to the garage of the little mansion that Angel loved so much. It really seemed cold and unwelcoming by daylight. No doubt Angel had never seen it by day when he picked it out as the perfect place to... squat... in.

   She parked the car in the driveway and went to their side door by the jasmine garden. It was sort of torn up. She went into the mansion to find Angel sitting by himself on the couch. There was blood on his shirt, on his hands, on his knees. He was holding the gem of Amara in his fingers and twisting it around to catch the light from the lamp beside him. “A-Angel?” Buffy asked.

   “Why did you give me this?” Angel asked.

   “What?”

   “This gem,” he said. “When you took it from Spike. Why did you give it to me?”

   “Because I love you,” Buffy said. He looked up at her, as if expecting more. “I trust you,” she added. “I think you’re the only vampire in the world that would use that gem for good.”

   “You think I’ve used it for good?”

   “Well. Haven’t you?” She was getting worried now. The interior of the mansion was kind of torn up, too. The phone  _was_  off the hook, in a pile of rubble from the broken side table. She came up to Angel and went and knelt down by his feet. “What the matter, honey? Did something happen? Whose blood is that?”

   He looked down. “Some of it’s mine,” he said dully. “He got a few good bites in, but they all sealed over thanks to this.” He held it up to the light again. “Why did you give me this?” he asked again.

   “I told you, because I love you. Angel, what’s happened? What’s going on? Who attacked you?”

   “You did,” Angel said evenly. “You went inside and you twisted me up. And you lied to me. At first I didn’t believe it, thought it was lies, and then… proof. The scent…. You’ve been lying for... weeks.” He scoffed. “Years, probably. You made me believe... really believe that we could make this work. That you loved me.”

   Buffy’s heart clenched, and she swallowed. She was terribly afraid she knew where this was going. “I do love you,” she whispered. “I do. It....” And then she saw it, lying over the side of an overturned chair. A swath of buttery black leather. Spike’s coat. “Spike,” she said.

   “Spike,” Angel said clearly. He stared into her eyes for a long moment, and then he looked away. Toward the window. The open window.

   The sun had risen. It wasn’t pouring through into the living room at the moment, but outside was bright with it. Angel was immune to it so long as he wore that ring, but Spike.... “What did you do?” she asked. Her voice surprised her as it came out thick. Tears were building. “What did you do? Is he gone?” she asked. “Did you dust him? Angel?”  

   He wasn’t answering.

   “Angel, tell me, please. Please tell me you didn’t....”

   “You really care about him, don’t you?” Angel asked.

   “I don’t... know, but... if you... if he was....” The tears stabbed her eyes. “Did you kill him?”

   “What if I did?” Angel asked.

   And to her own surprise, Buffy slapped him. “That’s not something you joke around with!” she barked. “You tell me what happened!”

   “Why?” he snapped. “When you’re keeping secrets from me.” He shook his head. “To think I was considering offering you…. But then you chose  _Spike_? And you don’t even come to me, you just… with Spike….”    

   “How did you find out?” Buffy asked. “Who told you, was it Xander?”

   “ _Xander_  knows?” Angel asked. “You told Xander?”

   “What happened to Spike?” Buffy demanded.

   “Did you tell Willow, too? What about Oz? What about the president, did you tell him as well?”

   “Just my mother,” Buffy countered. “What happened to Spike?” Angel still wasn’t answering. Buffy leaned forward and grabbed him by the shirt. “Did you dust him or not?”

   “I didn’t,” Angel said coldly. “But I should have.”

   Buffy had a hard time believing him. “Where is he?”

   “You going to go find him, now?” Angel asked. “Tend his wounds, make sure he’s all cuddled up with his blankie?”

   “I just have to see it to believe you!” Buffy snapped, and then realized what she’d said. She let go of him abruptly. “I... I didn’t mean that.”

   “Yeah, you did,” Angel said. “That was completely honest.”

   “Angel....” Buffy’s head hung. “I didn’t mean... I didn’t mean for this to happen, it just happened, okay? It wasn’t done to hurt you, I just... every time I brought it up you wouldn’t listen.”

   “You know, I never noticed you trying to tell me you were having an affair.”

   “I tried to tell you I needed more,” Buffy said. “Just… more. But you wouldn’t help me, and I wanted... I wanted you, but I couldn’t have you.”

   “And you told me that was okay, once,” Angel said. “You made me believe that you wanted that.”

   “I thought I did,” Buffy said. “It was okay, I thought, but… then you took away what we had, the closeness and the kisses, and when you wouldn’t give me even what you  _could_  have….” She couldn’t say, _why couldn’t you just give me a handjob sometimes_? It wasn’t the sort of thing she ever said to Angel. “It was too hard to beg,” she said instead. “And then Spike was there, and he wanted to just give me more, no wheedling, no begging, and I still loved you, but he just…. Please, where is he? Where did he run off to? You have to tell me.” She gestured to Angel’s clothes. “There’s too much blood. Please.”

   “He’s downstairs, in your love nest,” Angel said darkly. “Right where you want him to be.”

   “Downstairs...?” Buffy got up and ran to Drusilla’s room. Her patch job on the door had broken again, and it hung sideways on only one hinge. Spike lay on the bed, chained and bleeding. His shirt was ripped, his body was bruised, his jaw hung at a weird angle, and blood dripped out the side of his mouth. And he was making the strangest sound with his breathing, a kind of keening, whistling moan. Something inside him was very broken. He stopped and coughed, and more blood spattered over the covers. Then the moan turned to a groan of pain for a moment, and then his breath went back to whistling.

   Buffy was appalled. That Angel would do this… that  _anyone_  with a soul could do this! Even to someone evil, it was horrifying. “What the hell have you done to him?” Buffy yelled over her shoulder. Angel stood not more than three paces behind her.

   “No more than he deserved.”

   “He deserved?” Buffy demanded. “Look at him! You’ve tortured him.”

   “I just beat him. He knows how to take it.”

   “Why? Because you taught him?” Buffy demanded. “He’s not your minion anymore.” She glared at him in disgust. “God, what are you?”

   “I thought I was your husband,” Angel said. “But I guess I was wrong. You know he’d torture me if he could get away with it. Hell, he already did. Taking you here under my very nose.”

   “What nose? You were off playing high and mighty destined one in LA,” Buffy snapped. “And he didn’t take me.”

   “Like hell he didn’t.”

   “This isn’t a dance!” Buffy yelled. “We did something together, I haven’t been _taken_.” She pushed Angel away. “You get away from me, I can’t deal with you right now.”

   Angel’s eyes narrowed and he stepped away.

   “Wait!” Buffy shouted.

   “What now, adulteress?” Angel asked.

   “Give me that ring.”

   “What?”

   “I said give me that ring. I’m going to heal him.”

   “You what?”

   “You heard me.”

   Angel scoffed. “Of course. He’s your favorite now.”

   “Oh, shut up, he needs it now and you don’t. You’ll get it back, just give it to me.”

   “Who says I want it back?” Angel snapped. He took it back off his finger and threw it at her.

   She didn’t have time to argue with Angel. She heard him slamming doors across the house, until she heard the echoing clatter of the sewer access door as he slammed away. But she didn’t really have time to worry about what Angel was going to do, or even if he was coming back. Spike was in agony, and it was all her fault.

   “Hey,” she said, coming up to him on the bed. “Hey, it’s me.”

   Spike abandoned his deep groaning and tried to open bruise-swollen eyes. “Buffy?” he whispered.

   “Shh, yeah. It’s me, it’s okay. Let me get you out of those....”

   “No!” Spike said as she tried to undo the chains. His voice was thick with a fat lip. “No, leave the chains.”

   “What? Why?”

   “I can get out if you undo the chains,” Spike said. “Go and get the… oooh....” He gasped for air and moaned again.

   “Spike, you’re not going to do anything in this state—”

   “Just. Leave. The chains,” Spike growled between blood caked lips. “Please.”

   “I got the gem,” Buffy said instead of insisting on the chains. “Here, give me your hand, it should heal you up.”

   She reached up to his cold hand and slipped the ring over his finger. It wouldn’t go on. His hands were swollen and possibly even broken as she could tell he’d laid punch after ineffectual punch on the invulnerable Angel. She moved it to his pinky finger, which was the least damaged, and managed to get it up to the second knuckle.

   There was a sickly, sticky sound, like macaroni through a rubber glove. Spike screamed as something inside him shifted. Then he looked up at Buffy, half panicked. “Take my shirt off,” he said.

   “Why?”

   “I don’t want cotton healed into my skin. Please!”

   Buffy reached forward and ripped the already torn black t-shirt off his torso. Then she eased him sideways to pull it out from under him, and she gasped.

   There was a massive hole in his back, deep enough that she could see the bones of his spine through the ruined flesh. It was moving faintly, as if it were made of worms, which she knew was the ring healing up his vampire musculature. She very carefully removed all the loose threads of semi-charred cotton, pulling it out from under him. “What happened here?” she asked.

   Spike made another sound, half a yell. “Angel ripped out the tracker,” Spike said. “ _Oh_! He got it. I think he got it all.”

   “Your piercing?” Buffy asked. “The explosive? Why’d he do that?”

   “I told him not to,” Spike said. He gasped. “I started to sober up after he beat me for an hour, so I told him.... He hit my back, and I told him, whatever you do, just don’t pull out my piercing. He nearly ripped out my spine with it. Oh!”

   “Spike....”

   “Burned his hand,” Spike said. “Doubt he noticed. Am I healing? I was afraid I’d go paralyzed again.”

   “Yeah, it... it looks like it’s healing,” Buffy said. She left him on his side so the big wound could have a chance to close up clean. A terrible crack sounded on his other side, and Buffy looked up. Spike’s jaw was popping back into place. He screamed.

   “Oh, god, are you okay?” Buffy asked.

   Spike’s blue eyes flickered open, and he gave her a sardonic glance before he closed them again, panting with pain. Buffy climbed over him to his other side, and checked his bones. They should be set, she realized, aimed properly at each other so they could heal right. She double checked his jaw and realized one section of it was still off kilter. Very gently she touched the bruised flesh until it seemed to be the right shape.

   “You wanna jam that tooth back in?” Spike asked when she’d done. “The loose one.” He opened his mouth and she saw one tooth popped up among the others like an old tombstone. Some of the others seemed a little loose, too. She reached gently inside his mouth and slid the teeth back down. It was hard to get through the blood and swollen flesh, and he screamed again, but they went down, and he didn’t try to bite her.

   “Thanks,” he said when she’d finished. “Oh, bloody hell, this hurts. Fuck. Ahh!” Another crack sounded somewhere as another bone popped back into place.

   “Spike, what the hell did you think you were doing?” Buffy asked. “Were you just looking for me, or what? How did he find out?”

   “I told him,” Spike said wearily. He groaned softly and shifted his neck to let something heal.

   “You just  _told_  him?” Buffy asked. She closed her eyes for a moment. This was going to be good. “Why?”

   He looked up at her. “What does it matter? You were through with me anyway.”

   “Spike....”

   “I wasn’t shagging Harm,” Spike said then. “Not anymore. I just hadn’t got around to telling her that.”

   Buffy sighed. “I don’t care anymore,” she said wearily. And she didn’t. Spike’s condition had driven home to her how really petty those kinds of things were. How was she going to endure this? She’d expected suspicion, danger, maybe even getting caught out. She’d expected it to be  _her_ who had confessed, and she’d talk Angel into not taking it out on Spike when she did. She hadn’t thought it would be Spike just walking into the lion’s den and putting his head firmly into its mouth. “What the hell did you go and tell Angel  _for_?” she whispered.

   “I did it for you,” he whispered.

   “Huh?”

   “So you wouldn’t have to lie anymore,” Spike said. “So you wouldn’t have to poison your soul.”

   “Spike, are you insane?”

   “Was just drunk,” he said. “And I’m....” He swallowed. “Do me a favor,” he said. “It’s getting pretty bad. Don’t let me out of these chains.”

   “Why?”

   “They got me on a drug,” he said. “I’m trying to get off it. Don’t let me go back to them, no matter what I say.”

   She didn’t have to ask who  _they_  was. The guys with the tracking device, the head chip, the explosive. They had him on an addiction, too.

   “How will I know when you’re done?” she asked.

   Spike groaned. “I don’t know!” he moaned. “I’m sobering up, it’s like hell. Bloody hell, the pain was keeping it away.”

   “What do I do?”

   Spike closed his eyes. “Don’t leave me alone,” he whispered.

   Buffy took in a deep breath. “Okay,” she said.

 

***

 

        “In here alone tonight, I see,” Cordelia said. “And early.”

        Angel looked weary as he came in. The Bronze was still pretty dead. It had only just opened, and there was no live singer tonight. Canned music was playing in the background, and the few patrons were mostly snacking on bar food and chatting low. Angel slumped down on his usual bar stool and dropped some money down.

        “What’s up with you?” Cordy asked.

        “What, you don’t know?” Angel said with a sardonic glare. “I thought the whole town was privy to it by now.”

        “Oh,” Cordelia said. “So you  _do_  know.”

        “That Buffy has been sleeping around with my arch nemesis?” Angel said. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed and leaned his head glumly on his hand. “How long have  _you_  known?”

        “Not until after you left last night,” Cordy said. “Though I was sort of suspicious with that argument you three had.”

        Angel looked glum. “So at least  _you_  weren’t keeping secrets from me.” He shook his head. “I should have guessed she would do this.”

        “Yes,” Cordelia said. “You should have guessed. You shouldn’t have done this to her in the first place.”

        “Done what?”

        “Condemned a college aged girl to celibacy,” Cordy said. “Hell, even I didn’t want that, and my only sexual option left with this scar was Xander Harris.”

        Angel didn’t tell her the scar wasn’t so bad, which irked her even more.

        “It was a stupid thing to do, thinking the two of you could get all hot and heavy and then walk away every day,” Cordy went on. “I can’t believe you ever thought you could do it.”

        “Thanks for the tea and sympathy,” Angel said. “Just get me a drink, will you? I spent all day in the sewer.”

        “Why in the sewer?”

        “Buffy... took my ring,” Angel said. He looked almost in tears about it.

        “She took…?”

        “The gem of Amara,” Angel said glumly. “I’d let it replace my wedding ring, and she took it from me.”

        Cordy swallowed. That did seem pretty cold. “Why?”

        “She said she needed to heal him,” Angel said. “She gave it to him.”

        “ _Gave_ it to him? Like permanently?”

        Angel shrugged.

        “Will you get it back?”

        “Don’t know if I want it back, now.”

        “Oh, don’t be stupid, it’s what gives you the sunlight,” Cordy said.

        “She did say I’d get it back, but… I don’t know if I believe her. She lies.”

        “So do you,” Cordy said, without as much sympathy as he seemed to feel he deserved. His face went wounded.

        “Hey.”

        “You do lie,” Cordy said. “You lie to her, you lie to me. Any time you feel we shouldn’t know about things.”

        “I don’t lie to you.”

        “Spike’s been hanging out watching TV at my place for months, hanging around Harmony,” Cordelia said. “I’m pretty sure he’s told me the truth about some things that you, my friend, have absolutely lied about.”

        Angel didn’t confirm or deny. He just sighed.

        The sympathy she knew she should feel finally welled up. She remembered how hurt she had been when she’d caught Xander kissing Willow. Enough jealousy to destroy the world. Even now that she and Xander still sometimes got together, she could never trust him again. That was why they weren’t exclusive now. Cordy leaned over the bar and put her elbows next to Angel’s. “When did you find out?” she asked.

        “Last night,” Angel said. “After I got home. Spike came over drunk just before sunrise, and just  _told_  me.”

        “And you believed him?” Angel looked up. “Well, you lie, but he does too.”

        “Buffy confirmed it,” Angel said. “They’ve been sleeping together.” His nostrils flared as his face tensed. “Buffy has been with  _Spike_. They’ve been….”

        “Well, she didn’t leave you,” Cordy said. “So she must not want to end it, really.” She touched his hand. “Do you want to end it now?”

        “Don’t we have to?”

        Cordy closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think you stopped trying to make it work a long time ago. Buffy was just confirming the inevitable.”

        “That’s not fair,” Angel said. “I love her.”

        “So much you were asking Xander to boink her.”

        “Well, as you so eloquently pointed out when I suggested it, she took care of that on her own.”

        “Did you ever get around to suggesting it to her?” Cordy asked.

        “Xander didn’t want to.”

        “Giving her her own choice of bedmate, I mean.”

        Angel looked down. The answer was no.

        “You never tried with her, Angel. You just cut out anything that didn’t match your idea of exactly how things should go. You stopped sleeping with her, you stopped kissing her, you complained every time she tried. And she did try. Because you kept bitching about it to me.”

        “It wasn’t fair,” Angel complained. “She knew we couldn’t….”

        “Couldn’t what? What couldn’t you do? Dance together? Sleep together? Do a little dry humping or heavy petting?”

        “That’s…” Angel looked embarrassed. “Every time I tried I wanted too much.”

        “And she wanted  _more_ ,” Cordy said. “More than you were offering her, anyway. Don’t you remember what it was like being young and horny? The person who all this wasn’t fair to was  _Buffy_.”

        “She said she wanted it,” Angel said. “That she loved me, and she wanted whatever she could have of me.”

        “Well, she probably still does, since she hasn’t left you. She just wanted more.”

        Angel’s glumness made his face sag. “And I could never give her more.”

        “Sure you could,” Cordelia said. “You could talk to  _her_  about this stuff instead of to me. You could have kept sleeping beside her instead of insisting it was too hard. You could, if you’ll pardon me, have fucking danced with her.”

        “I’m not good at dancing,” Angel said reluctantly, and Cordy lost her patience.

        “Fine!” She said. “I’ll teach you.” She went around the bar and grabbed Angel’s hand, pulling him onto the dance floor. It was only canned music playing, a random selection of pop and indy, but Cordelia put his arms firmly around her and looked up into his face. His cool hands felt like velvet over her shirt, soft and supple. “See?” she said. “Not that hard.”

        Angel swayed uneasily. “It always felt awkward to me,” he said.

        “Yeah, I remember prom. You stayed for like one song and then scampered off like that hellhound was after you.”

        “I was eager,” Angel said quietly. “I wanted to give Buffy….”

        “Give her what?” Cordelia prompted.

        “That was the night I proposed,” Angel said.

        Well, damn, she’d put her foot in it there. “I’m sorry,” she said.

        Angel didn’t answer, just looked sadly into her face.

        “I’m sorry about the whole thing,” she said then. “I don’t think it was right, what she did. Maybe the marriage isn’t fair to either of you. But I don’t think she was right.”

        “Thanks,” Angel said.

        The music had changed. The soft male voice called out, “ _And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life. ‘Cause sooner or later it’s over, I just don’t want to miss you tonight._ ”

        Cordelia swallowed. She’d kept trying to forget how handsome Angel was. He was taken. He was Buffy’s. But the idea that maybe he was free now had wormed its way under her skin, and her attraction to him was surfacing, peeping up through all the dirt she’d buried it under like a sprouting seed.  _No,_  she told herself.  _It’s too soon_.

         _Screw that,_  she said then.  _Scar or not, you’re Queen C._

        She laid her head on his broad chest and swayed with the music.

        “ _And I don’t want the world to see me,”_ the canned singer mused,  _“’Cause I don’t think that they’d understand. When everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.”_

        Angel lifted her head gently with his hand. “Cordy,” he whispered.

        She realized she was crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered back. “I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt.”

        His thumb caressed her cheek… caressed her scar. She gazed up and into his eyes, and had just decided she wanted to kiss him – really hungrily wanted to kiss him – when he was kissing her. He tasted like blood and honey, something dangerous and sweet, and the sensation of it trickled all the way down her chest and into her body, and her groin clenched with it. She was pressed up against him, and she felt something twitch.  _Oh, yes._

        And then he was pulling away. “No,” he said.

        “Angel….”

        “I can’t,” he said, looking desperate. “I can’t with her, I can’t with you. Don’t do this to me,” he begged. “I just can’t.”

        “Why not?” Cordelia asked.

        “What do you mean why not? You know why not,” Angel said. “It’s the soul in me knows how to love, and I can’t do this without it. But if I do I’ll lose it. Catch 22. Don’t make me do this, Cordelia, it’s not fair.” He rubbed at his head, mussing up his hair. “None of this is fair.”

        “And it doesn’t make sense,” Cordelia said. “There  _has_  to be something you can do. You were  _cursed_  with this soul, it doesn’t make sense that it was so easily broken. What was it? Every time you have sex, you lose it? You’ve really been celibate for a hundred years?”

        “Well… no,” Angel said. “I did… with Darla shortly after. But I was so heavy with guilt then….”

        “So… wait. It actually  _isn’t_  sex?”

        “No. Doyle says it’s… perfect happiness.”

        “How does Doyle know?”

        “He’s the messenger of the Powers That Be,” Angel said. “He’s the guide that sends me on my missions. He knew about me and Buffy before he came to find me.” He looked down. “He knows that I can’t ever.”

        “Does he really know?” Cordelia asked. “I mean, can he ask? If you went and decided to have sex, would you really lose your soul? And even if you would, isn’t there something you can do about it? Like… weld your soul on or something?”

        “I don’t… think that’s how it works.”

        “Well, it should,” Cordy snapped. “Do you have this Doyle’s phone number? Maybe he can ask these Powers That Be if you really have to be miserable to be their champion. It seems like a stupid idea to me. Maybe they think it’s a stupid idea, too.”

        “I… have his number,” Angel said, touching his pocket. “But… it’s my destiny, Cordy.”

        “How can it be your destiny to  _be_  with Buffy, and  _not_  be with her at the same time?” Cordy asked. “That doesn’t make any sense. Give me your phone. I’m calling Doyle.”

        “What do you think he’s going to do?” Angel said, fumbling the thing out.

        “I don’t know,” Cordy said. She snatched it out of his hand and poked at his presets. Sure enough, there was Doyle. One of only three numbers, she realized, along with Buffy’s cell and Angel’s own house.  She pressed the preset under Doyle’s name and went back to the bar as she asked question after question.

        Ten minutes later she turned to Angel. “Okay,” she said. “Doyle doesn’t know, but he says he might know who does. Apparently there’s a pair of oracles in LA who know the plans of the Powers That Be. So we can ask them if there’s anything to be done about your little problem.”

        “No,” Angel said. “It can’t be that easy.”

        “Yes,” Cordelia said. “It can.”

 


	19. I'm Sorry

   “No,” Spike said weakly as Buffy loosened the chain around his wrist. “I said leave them.”

   “You try to leave to get a hit, and I’ll hit you,” Buffy said. “Sound like a plan?” She kept on at his chains. “I need to change your sheets.”

   “Why?”

   “I don’t know what they put in that drug, but you were sweating blood,” Buffy said. “I need you to roll over.”

   “I could fight you,” he warned. Not that he felt strong enough. After straining so much he was clearly too weak to fight without the ring. His wounds were healed up, but they’d been replaced by numbing fatigue. He remembered going limp when she finally wrestled the ring off.

   She’d actually had to wrestle it off. He hadn’t been able to keep from clenching his fist, insisting on holding on to it, even though he knew she was doing what was best. The gem made him too strong. Strength could mean he’d go back to the Initiative for his blood.

   He felt like he’d gone through a mangle. He wished he could remember everything, but it was so fuzzy. “What did I do?”

   “Well, there was yelling.”

   “I remember that part,” Spike said.

   “Yeah,” Buffy said, rolling the sheet out from under spike. “There was yelling. Screaming, really. It… didn’t seem human.”

   That was when she’d gone for the gem. He remembered that. He’d vamped up and tried to go for her, but she’d forced his fingers open and got the gem off. And — god, no, had he burst into tears?

   Yes, he probably had, and he was fairly sure that wasn’t the only time that night.

   After the ring came off and he knew fighting was fruitless he started begging. Tears streaming, he’d begged her, begged her to go to the Initiative, get his blood, go and get Finn, find Finn, he’s got what I need. He remembered her sitting on a chair beside him, letting him beg.

   When he realized she wasn’t leaving, his sobs grew worse, and the threats started. He cringed at what he’d said to her then. That he’d tear her limb from limb, skin her slowly, tie her to the sodding train tracks, even. Rape her to death? Had he actually said that? He knew he’d threatened Angel, said he’d cut off his arms, cut off his cock, shove his eyes down her throat until she choked on them if she didn’t get him his blood. Said that when he got out of there he’d set the mansion on fire with them both in it, and lock the bloody doors. He said he’d listen to them scream.

   She seemed to tune out his curses, her eyes going blank and distant as she regarded his body, not his face. “I’ll kill you, I'll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll do it, I’ll....” and then he’d burst into tears again. Horrified tears at the thought of her cold and dead, all that life, all that passion, all that unleashed wildness, gone forever, dead in his arms like his victims, those other slayers he’d killed. He screamed — he remembered this — and then sobbed like a little child who’d just thought of losing his mother.

   And then the sobbing would fade, and he’d beg her again. And when she didn’t respond, curse her again. How many times this cycle had repeated he didn’t know. Only twice? He hoped so. But it could have been five times, or twenty.

   But then his cursing voice began to slur, and it wasn’t because of alcohol. His teeth were chattering. He had terrible shakes. “Are you cold?” she asked, the first thing she’d said to him since the threats had started.

   “Always,” Spike whispered. “Cold.” He sobbed and shuddered and moaned like a sad child. For a long moment she bit her lip, and then she got up off her chair and joined him on the bed. It was too much for her own empathy to let it continue. A blanket was going to be of no use to him, as he had no body-heat to warm it up. She slipped up beside him — still firmly shackled of course — and let him lay his head on her chest. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Just listen to my heartbeat. It’ll be okay.”

   It was a miracle. And it wasn’t enough. “Nev-ver be ok-kay,” Spike whispered back through his shakes. “Never love m-me, will you? Heart doesn’t beat f-for me.”

   “I’ve got you,” she whispered to him. Not I love you, but, “I’ve got you.”

   “I love you,” he whispered. “Bloody insane. Cat in love with a dog.” He laughed. “Mouse in love with a cat.”

   That’s all he would ever be now, with this chip in his head. Frightened little mouse. Scared of the humans who could hurt him, scared of the monsters that were about to be unleashed, scared of the slayer, scared of not having the slayer, just scared. He usually liked fear, but he realized what he’d loved wasn’t fear. It was risk. Risk was a vibrant animal one could ride to exhilaration. Fear was just a black hole that he couldn’t climb out of.

   But Buffy’s heartbeat was comforting.

   He didn’t know how much of what he’d been thinking he’d muttered aloud. He hoped not much of it. He feared it might have been all of it. And to make matters worse, around then the visions started, and he started to scream again. No begging this time, just screaming horrors. No longer trying to escape the chains, just cringing from whatever was attacking him. Great bat monsters laughing at him for being unable to fly with him. Angelus, vamped up and glaring, with a handful of Spike’s flesh in his hand, gnawing on it. Drusilla doing the nasty with a faceless parade of strangers, moaning her enthusiasm on the dresser. Finn and Walsh and that beast Adam, laughing together, threatening everything he loved. Sometimes he’d turn to Buffy. “Can you see them? Make them go away.”

   “They’ll go,” she said patiently. “Just wait, and they’ll go. I won’t let them hurt you.”

   “Buffy....”

   “I’m the slayer,” she whispered. “I won’t let the monsters get you.”

   The greatest monster stood over the bed, teasing Spike, his teeth wide, his eyes red and yellow, with claws like Dru, teasing Buffy. Bending down to take bites off of her. It was Spike himself, the most horrifying version he could imagine. He could actually see it attack her, and leave with a chunk of her bleeding flesh, but Buffy herself sat calm, steadily beside him, staring not at the surrounding horrors, but into his eyes.

   “It’s going to be okay, Spike,” she said. “This can’t last forever.”

   The other Spike monster went for her throat, and he could see her bleeding. So much blood dripping down her chest. So much blood, she could never survive it. She began to turn blue with death, but she still sat beside him calmly as he stared up in horror. “It will all be okay,” she said. “I’m here.” She caressed his jaw. “I’m here.”

   That was the last thing he remembered clearly. After that he sort of drifted in and out of consciousness until now, as Buffy decided to change the sheets.

   “I was sweating blood?” Spike asked. That wasn’t a frequent finder in vampires, Anne Rice’s fictions notwithstanding.

   “I called and had Giles look it up,” Buffy said. “Not unprecedented. He called it highmatasaurus or hematidrosis. Sounded like a dinosaur. If you were human it would mean something ugly, but you’ll probably be fine. Also, I had to tell him about you.”

   “About me?”

   “Well, about the chip and the commandos and the withdrawal symptoms and the fact that the tracker’s out of you. Because frankly that means you can be useful for that monster you told me is brewing in their lair. Complex,” she corrected herself. “Military complex. Seems like it should be a lair if it’s in a cave, doesn’t it? But no, not about you and me and the gatepost.”

    “We never did anything on the gatepost.”

   “I’m sure we’d have gotten around to it,” Buffy said ruefully.

   “How much did I tell you?” Spike asked.

   “Enough,” Buffy said. “Probably too much.”

   “Are you angry with me?”

   He said it, he realized, in the same tone he’d used after they’d first had sex, asking if she was going to kill him.

   Buffy looked at him squarely, took in a deep breath to reply, and instead finished tightening the sheet under him. She pushed his arm back into the manacle, and he went willingly, unsure whether the desperate need inside him would come back. It seemed to be softer now, though. In fact... he still felt a bit of a desire for that strange aftertaste the drugs gave him, but the hunger that usually went with it, that was gone.

   Buffy had a new bite on her arm.

   “You let me,” he said. He wished to god he could remember her letting him.

   “I’ll get you some new clothes,” she said, ignoring him. “I can find some black, but Angel doesn’t wear jeans. You okay with that?”

   “You’ll have to turn up the cuffs.”

   “Then you’ll look like a good little boy, won’t you? I’ll get you a belt.”     

   She came back in a few moments with a damned sponge bath. Well, it wasn’t hard to think of one, since Dru had kept her kit right on the dresser with her dolls. Buffy gently washed away the worst of the blood as she removed his trousers. He realized he must have been unconscious when she cleaned his torso. He was being tended like a fucking toddler. God, this was humiliating. At least it was Buffy and not anyone else. He lay there and let her tend him, sleepy and relaxed. It felt a bit like when Dru would care for him, after Angelus had been after him. He lay back and just let her touch him.

   “The gang is coming,” she said when she’d finished, ruining his good mood. “I’ll be taking a bet you’ll be lucid, but you’ll have to be in the meeting with some chains on until I’m sure you’re not just waiting for a chance to go for that drug again.”

   “No,” Spike said. “I want off it.”

   “Well, if that’s not a lie, you’re already a lot cleaner than you were yesterday.”

   “Yesterday?” Spike asked. “How long have I been like this?”

   “A day and a night, and now another day,” Buffy said. “And if what you told me about this Adam creature is right, we only have one more day to prepare.” She took hold of the chains she had disconnected from the bed. “So heel, boy. We’re gonna save the world.”  

 

***

 

        “So,” Cordelia said as they drove back.

        “So.”

        Cordy didn’t know what to say. It seemed awkward to ask,  _So, are you leaving your wife now, or what?_  Angel’s eyes were fixed on the night road. The headlights panned quietly over the desert, revealing only glimpses of the landscape around them. They seemed alone together in a dark universe, just their two little headlights breaking through the darkness.

        He didn’t seem to know what to say, either. He’d explained what the oracles had said just after he got out, but he said little more after that. They’d left Doyle in LA, but Angel and Cordy had a long drive back to Sunnydale.

        “So what’s this going to mean?” Cordelia finally asked when they were about halfway through the drive. “You know… now that you know?”

        “I have to talk to Buffy,” Angel said. “You know I have to.” He glanced at her. “Just because she did… what she did, doesn’t mean…. I mean we are still married.”

        “Of course,” Cordelia said. “But what happens after?”

        “I… really don’t know,” Angel said. “It’s complicated. You have to know it’s complicated.”

        “Yeah, I know it’s complicated,” Cordelia said, a little snappish.

        The oracles had apparently told Angel exactly what she had wanted him to hear… and it wasn’t going to make a blind bit of difference.

        “I’ll drop you off at your apartment,” Angel said quietly.

        Of course he would. Her dinky apartment and her crappy bar waitress job and her completely empty scarred remnants of a life. Why did she waste her time with this?

        They drove in silence the rest of the way, and made an awkward goodbye when they got to her apartment building. Cordelia trudged up the stairs, only to find Harmony there waiting for her.

         “Oh, good, I was hoping you’d get back soon,” Harmony said. “Did you know Spike was cheating on me with  _Buffy_?”

        Cordelia burst into tears.

 

***

 

        “We’ve saved the world! Again!” Xander said. “I can’t believe it.”

        “Speak for yourself,” Spike said from his position on Buffy’s table. “Not the first time I’ve done that, is it, Buffy?”

        “You are so full of it,” Buffy said, not sounding as annoyed as she wished she did. Spike’s help had been invaluable in the Initiative complex. So had everyone’s, actually. That was why she had thrown the pizza party at Crawford Street as they all recovered.

        “Would you stop moving?” Giles snapped at Spike. “It’s difficult enough to find all these bullets without you lolloping about so.”

        “I’m just keeping up with the conversation,” Spike said, though he stayed semi-prone. “I’m in too good a mood to stay still.”

        “Do you want to live forever with these bullets in you?”

        “So long’s the important bits still work,” Spike said. “If you’d let me keep the ring…”

        “No,” Buffy snapped. “You only get to keep it for now. Stay still. Let Giles work on you. He knows vampire anatomy best of all of us.”

        “And here I would have thought that was you,” Spike said, too low for anyone else to hear. Buffy did not blush. She hoped.

        She turned instead to Willow, lying on her couch with a damp cloth on her head. “How’s the backlash, Will?”

        Willow only groaned.

        “She sh-should be okay,” said Tara. It had been Oz’s idea to invite Tara to this demonpalooza.  A real Scooby trial by fire, as she’d never met any of them but Willow before, and that brief moment with Buffy. But Willow had been glad to have her, and after her initial shyness was beaten down by combat, she’d proved quick on her feet, and she did know what Willow needed after she’d collapsed.

        Willow had used a lot of magic making a shield around everyone to protect them from bullets once they were found out. Too much, actually. It had worn her out.

        “Headaches are common after an overuse of power,” Tara said. “Particularly when you’re not used to it, Willow. I w-wish you’d told me before you used that spell. We could have done it together.”

        “You were busy with the resonance wave,” Willow said. The resonance wave which Oz had come up with, to force feedback through the Initiative voice-activated computer after everything had gone on lockdown and poison gas had been threatened. “I still can’t get over  _Riley_  being one of those commandos.”

        “Finn was a prize ratbag,” Spike said from the table. “Hey! Easy with the goods, there. That tickles!”

        “The magnet says you have a steel-tipped bullet in your left buttock,” Giles said. “There is a corresponding hole in your trousers. Either you let me dig it out with the gem still on your finger, or without it.”

        “It would hurt without,” Spike grunted.

        “And I don’t really see that as a detriment,” Giles said, irritated. “Honestly, Buffy, I don’t know why we had to bring him along.”

        “I thought it was because he and Buffy were an item now,” Xander said.

        “We’re not an item!” Buffy snapped. “Just he was a useful asset with the ring.”

        “Couldn’t have done it without me.” Spike smirked.

        “We could have done just fine with you  _without_  the ring,” Giles said. “All you did was draw fire.”

        “Would have dusted me without,” Spike said.

        “And again, I’m having trouble seeing that as a detriment. Hold still!”

        “Dusting me wouldn’t have helped you,” Spike pointed out. “Had to keep old Franken-finny busy enough for Buffy to pull his plug.” He had taken quite the pounding, actually, with bullets, impalement, minor explosives. Most of them were potent enough to hurt him quite a lot even with the ring. But he’d made a good distraction while Buffy had sought out the creature’s heart – which wasn’t a heart, but a tiny glowing reactor or something. Either way, she’d grabbed it out and shut him down, and that was the end of Adam.

        “You only knew his weakness because  _I_  managed to get it out of Walsh,” Xander said, preening a little.

        “You let her monologue,” Oz said. “After she captured you.”

        “I was a good audience. I knew surrendering was a good idea.”

        “Shame about Riley, though,” Willow said from under her cloth. “He always seemed so gallant.”

        “If he and Walsh lied about being with the college, there’s no telling what else they would have lied about,” Buffy said.

        “I, for one, am glad the wanker had a heart attack,” Spike said. “The bastard took delight in torturing me.”

        “Something many people would take delight in, I’m sure,” Giles said. “ _Would_  you hold still?”

        “I’m not happy about it,” Buffy said. “I’m not happy about Adam taking down Walsh before he died, either. I would have liked to know what else she had done. I’m not happy about a lot of things.” She looked over at Oz. “How are you doing?”

        “I’m fine,” Oz said. “I’m just… glad they never caught me.”

        They’d found Veruca’s records when they’d cleaned up. Apparently the Initiative had captured her, and she hadn’t survived the experiments they’d performed on her.

        “They don’t do good things when they capture demons, that’s for sure,” Spike said. “Even part-time demons like your bird.”

        “She wasn’t my bird,” Oz said quietly. He looked sad, but he gripped Willow’s hand tightly. Tara looked wistful at that, but Oz smiled at her. Buffy was glad. Whatever was going on between the three of them, it looked like they were doing it right.

        “They did one good thing,” Buffy said. “And now that’s gone.”

        “What?”

        “They kept Spike from killing. With a chip.”

        “Yeah, it’s gone,” Spike said, sounding annoyed. “And I’m glad it’s gone. It was like a choke chain. Left me vulnerable.”

        “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Xander said.

        “And getting rid of it hurt like a mother, too,” Spike said. “Even with the ring.”

        “Would you care to explain yourselves, or are we forced to guess from this cryptic dialogue?” Giles asked.

        Only Buffy had seen it, but she decided to be honest. “Spike had a chip in his head that kept him from killing people,” she told them. “That’s the only reason he wasn’t still a killer. He wasn’t like Harmony. And now that chip is gone.”

        “How did that happen?” Giles asked.

        “Adam split my skull,” Spike said darkly. “Wasn’t much fun.”

        “The ring pushed the chip out before it healed up,” Buffy said. “So now we need to know, Spike. Are you going start killing us?”

        “Hey, I haven’t tried to bite you all yet, have I?” Spike asked. “Not even watcher boy with his  _sadistic_  scalpel and pliers.”

        “If this ring pushed out the chip, why doesn’t it push out all these bullets?” Giles asked.

        “Took a bit for even the ring to cure sommat that would have dusted me,” Spike said. “The bullets healed up too fast. I usually just take them out myself, you know.”

        “But usually they aren’t buried in healed skin. I see. Well, the magnet says there aren’t any more.”

        “Thank god,” Spike said. He sat up. “So if that’s it then, I’ll show myself out.”

        “Not so fast, Spike,” Buffy said, snapping her fingers. “Ring?”

        “Aw, slayer.”

        “I said you could only keep it temporarily. Thanks for helping, but that’s it. Give it.”

        “Slayer, listen. I found the bloody thing—”

        “And you’re too dangerous to keep it,” Buffy said. “Especially now.”

        “How do you know?” Spike asked.

        Buffy put her hands on her hips. “You know I can take it from you.”

        Spike took in a deep breath. He looked for a moment like he was ready to make a break for it, but then Buffy said something that made his eyes soften. “Please.” She held out her hand.

        “Buffy….”

        “If last night meant anything,” Buffy said quietly. “Give me the ring.”

        Spike glanced around at the Scoobies, who were all riveted. At his look they all quickly became a flurry of activity, turning to each other, grabbing for pizza, Giles tidying away bullets. Spike sighed and took the ring off his finger. He held it out to Buffy. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

        Buffy swallowed. “I won’t.”

        He took a step towards the door. “Wait,” she said again. She pulled him against the wall. “I want to ask you something,” she said low enough the others really couldn’t hear. She was nervous now. “I saved your life.”

        “How did you—”

        “I gave you that ring,” she said. “I helped you through last night. I want you to do something for me.”

        He swallowed.

        “I want you to stop killing.”

        “Buffy…”

        “Just… as long as I live. That might not be long. A couple years. But I want you to promise me that you won’t kill any humans except in self defense.” She was so anxious about this she was shaking. “Please.”

        “Buffy, I just got this chip out my head….”

        “And I know what you eat,” Buffy said. “I’m not saying stop feeding on humans. I can’t expect that, I don’t demand it of Harmony. But please. Just don’t kill anybody.”

        “I—”

        “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

        Spike stared at her for a long moment. He hadn’t said anything before the front door opened, and Angel came in, staring in bewilderment at the Scooby party in his living room.

        “What the…?”

        “And that’s our cue,” Xander said suddenly. “Thanks for the pizza, Buffy, we’ll just show ourselves out.” He took Willow by the hand and helped her up. Oz and Tara went with her, and Giles slipped out behind them.

        “Spike?” Buffy asked. “Could you leave us alone?”

        “What’s happened here?” Angel demanded.

        “Where were you?” Buffy asked.

        “What’s Spike doing here?”

        “What I needed you to do,” Buffy said. “Using the ring of Amara to help take down a nasty. Since you weren’t here, he did it. But he’s leaving now.” She looked at Spike. “Aren’t you.”

        “Would you give me back the ring if he beats me again?” Spike asked.

        “No.”

        “In that case, I’m leaving. Ta-ta, Angelus. See you around.” He sauntered off after the Scoobies.

        Buffy looked up at Angel. “Where did you go?”

        “Where did  _you_  go?” Angel asked. “A nasty? What happened?”

        “Spike got a chip in his head from those commandos he was hanging around,” Buffy said. “You knew about the chip?”

        “Uh… sort of.”

        “Well, they were not good news, as it turned out. Their leader wanted to take over the world using controlled demons and enhanced humans. Spike told us how to get into their complex, and we took them out.”

        “You… took them out? All of them?”

        “The important ones,” Buffy said.

        “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Angel asked.

        “We didn’t have much time. There was a demon-human hybrid which was really deadly that we had to take out before it reached full power. As it was, it nearly killed Spike. Even with the ring.”

        “Spike… helped you.”

        “Well… yeah. Where were you?”

        “I didn’t know that was going down.”

        “You turned off your cell phone.”

        “The battery died,” Angel said.

        Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’d been here,  _you_  could have been the one to play cannon fodder, and Spike would only have been the get-us-in guy. As it was, I needed him for both. Where were you?”

        “I was… in LA,” Angel said.

        “Another mission from Doyle?” Buffy asked. She couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice.

        “No,” Angel said. “A mission  _to_  Doyle. So he could lead me to an oracle he knew.” Angel swallowed. “Can we sit down?”

        Buffy was shaking again. Angel looked so earnest. She was sure he was about to break up with her. “Okay.”

        They sat down on the couch, a full arm’s length between them. Angel looked down. “I went to the oracles because… things… weren’t working between us. I was afraid… afraid something had gone wrong with my destiny. Cordelia said—”

        “You talked to Cordy about us?”

        “Yes,” Angel said. “Cordelia knows a lot about us. And she said it didn’t make sense. That I should be both destined to be with you, and not to be with you, at the same time.”

        “Never made much sense to me, either,” Buffy said.

        “Well, she was right. So I asked the oracles what that meant. And they said….” He swallowed.

        “What did they say?”

        “That we were never destined to be together at all. When Whistler found me, he just… wanted me to help you. My destiny was to become a champion, and you were the first step in that. But you and me… what we became to each other. That was never meant to happen.” He looked up at her. “I just fell in love with you. No destiny. Just love.”

        Buffy’s heart fluttered. It was beautiful, what he was saying, but it was also terrifying. Did that mean he was leaving her? “So it was just us?” she asked. “Not a missive from on high that we…?”

        “Exactly,” Angel said.

        “Does that mean we aren’t supposed to be together?” Buffy asked.

        “It doesn’t mean anything,” Angel said. “That’s the point.”

        “But does that mean we can’t make it work?” she asked. “I mean make us work?” she added, as she realized  _it_  was a bit of a double entendre.

        Angel shook his head. “It doesn’t mean that at all,” he said. “When I asked about… perfect happiness… they said that was all me, too. It wasn’t… being with you that made perfect happiness. It was what being with you meant to me. It meant that I was… sinless. I had been purified by your love.”

        “But… I… I can’t do that,” Buffy said. “I can’t take away your sins for you. I can’t make it  _okay_  that you killed hundreds of people.”

        “Thousands,” Angel whispered. “But that was how it felt at the time. Just before I lost my soul. Your innocence, your purity. It was so beautiful to be with you… it felt like I’d been washed clean.”

        “Sex doesn’t just magically make you clean,” Buffy said. “Not even with someone you love.”

        “I realize that now,” Angel said. “And they told me… they told me that I know that now. And I do. Sex can mean a lot of things… but it can’t take away the shame of what I’ve done without a soul. And I shouldn’t have let it in the first place.”

        “So… what do we do now?”

        Angel shrugged. “Nothing. Anything. Whatever we want.”

        “What?”

        “I can be with you,” he said, looking up at her with pleading in his eyes. “I always could. Once I realized what it really meant, that it didn’t wash me clean, I could have been with you… from the moment I got my soul back.”

        Buffy felt like screaming. “ _Now_  they tell you!” she snapped.

        Angel smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Would have been nice to know before all this.”

        Buffy blushed. “So… we could… be together. If we wanted to.” She swallowed. “I know that sex with you won’t erase what I’ve done, either. It won’t take away that I’ve hurt you.”

        “It won’t take away that I’ve hurt you, either,” Angel said. “And I know I have. But Buffy… why should we stay together? We each have destinies, you here at the hellmouth, me apparently in LA. Look at what you’ve done in one day without me.” He shook his head. “You don’t need me.”

        “I do need you,” Buffy whispered. “Not as my champion. Just… as my husband.” She held the ring out and gently took his hand. “That’s all I’ve ever needed. Someone to hold me and be part of my life and love me. Is that still what you want to do?”

        “With all my soul,” Angel whispered.

        “That’s what I want, too.” She slipped the gem of Amara gently over his ring finger. “With this ring… I thee rewed.”

        Angel smiled. “Buffy.” He leaned forward and pulled her to him. “Oh, Buffy.”

        “Angel,” she whispered. “Angel, Angel, Angel….”

        He lay her back on the couch.

 

***

 

        “Well, bugger,” Spike said from behind the side window. He’d heard the whole horrible exchange. Every declaration of love. Every rejection of destiny. Every grunt and groan as they finally gave into their passion for each other.

        He would not cry. He’d had one night of Buffy. Hell, he’d had five beautiful nights with a slayer. Four making love to her, and one… one deeper than that. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? He’d never thought he’d be able to claim a slayer as he had Buffy. He shouldn’t be feeling like he wanted to cry now, even if she had gone back to Angel.

        “It’ll be all right,” Dawn said.

        Spike glared. He hadn’t realized she had hung around to eavesdrop, too.

        “What do you know about it?”

        “Everything Mom does,” Dawn said. “You’ve been having an affair with Buffy, and now she’s thrown you over again. You should have expected it.”

        She was far too flippant about this. “Shouldn’t you be home in your beddy-bye?” he demanded of the chit.

        “I’m not five,” Dawn said, irritated. “Besides, Buffy was going to drive me home before Angel distracted her. Mom will be really pissed if I try to walk home alone.”

        Spike regarded her. “There are a lot of nasties between here and there,” he mused. “Your mum wouldn’t be real happy if Buffy let you be…  _eaten_.” He vamped up and made a move for her.

        Dawn laughed, without cringing away. “You’ve had like ten chances to kill me since you got to Sunnydale,” she said. “Parents night, Halloween, the factory. Am I supposed to suddenly be scared of you now?”

        Spike sighed glumly, letting his fangs down. “Would boost my ego a little,” he said. “Been right flattened by Mister Destiny coming back into the picture.”

        “Buffy wasn’t going to give up Angel,” Dawn said. “You knew that.”

        Spike scowled. He  _had_  known that. No matter what his heart had been telling him, not to mention his prick, he’d known in his head that Buffy was going to go back to Angel. He’d just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.

        “So… would you walk me home?” Dawn asked.

        Spike shrugged. “Yeah, all right.”

 


	20. PART 2: Not happy

 

 

        It had been five months since Buffy and Angel had finally been able to consummate their marriage. Five months of marital felicity, five months of slayer life extraordinaire. Five months of Angel being practically human, Buffy being a real college girl, everything being perfect – really perfect – for the first time in Buffy’s life.

        And Buffy was… not happy.

        She got into Angel’s car with a flip of her hair, pretending she wasn’t annoyed at him.

        “Come on, don’t be like that,” Angel said. “You know it’s nothing to do with you.”

        “Of course it isn’t,” Buffy said. Because it wasn’t. Angel just didn’t like to dance was all.

        “I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Angel went on.

        “We haven’t gone out in a month,” Buffy said. “You’ve gone out. I’ve gone out. But  _we_  haven’t. Why’d you have to go and say no?”

        “Well, I changed my mind,” Angel said. “Now I’ve said yes. We’re going out. Isn’t that good enough?”

        It wasn’t good enough. He’d already hurt her when he up and said yeah, let’s go out to the Bronze together after all. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t gone alone often enough. Buffy knew he did, because she went alone often enough, too. Sometimes catching a glimpse of Spike.

        She had thought, once she had everything she wanted from Angel, that it would block the Spike thoughts out of her head. She had expected every stray Spike thought to be easily hidden behind the Spike door, which she had closed on their truncated affair, left to grow dusty and never examined again.

        Unfortunately, that door had never shut properly, and Spike thoughts continued to trickle into her head. She tried to pretend she wasn’t going to the Bronze to see Spike, and she hadn’t wanted to bring Angel just to make Spike jealous. She told herself that. But she  _had_  to tell herself that, which meant the thought was in her head anyway.

        She didn’t wait for Angel when he stopped the car. Just walked around the corner from the parking lot, into the alley where the main entrance to the Bronze was. And there she waited for Angel. Because she sensed a familiar presence inside.

        She came in pointedly on Angel’s arm, smiling happily, clinging to him like she’d never let him go. “Oh, look, there’s the guys,” she said, waving at Willow and Tara, who had come to watch Oz play with Dingoes Ate My Baby. Xander spotted them as they came in, and nodded at Buffy, who waved enthusiastically.

        And Buffy pointedly ignored the platinum blond figure who was posing provocatively on the dance floor with a total stranger.

        “How’s it going, guys?” she asked as she came up to her friends..

        “Not bad,” Willow said. She had never seemed happier. “You’re late, what kept you?”

        “Um. Demon,” Buffy lied. Angel tensed beside her. He didn’t like it when she lied. “Totally slain, though.”

        “You’ve almost missed the first set,” Tara said. “Oh, listen,” she said. “I love this song.” She sang along quietly to the chorus.

        “I’ve never heard this one,” Buffy said, glancing up at the stage.

        “It’s new,” Tara said. “But I got to hear them rehearse. Oz is really good.”

        “If we do say so ourselves,” Willow added.

        Tara blushed, and looked down. “S-sorry. Am I too enthusiastic?”

        “Never!” Willow said.

        “I’ll get us some drinks,” Angel said. “Mineral water with a twist?”

        “Diet Coke,” Buffy reminded him. “Maybe goose it, if you get yourself a shot.”

        “Alcohol isn’t good for you.”

        “We drink wine at home.”

        “That’s different.”

        “How?”

        Angel didn’t pursue and went off to get their drinks.

        “What’s going on?”

        “Nothing,” Buffy said. She leaned back in the booth with the girls and looked up at the stage, where Oz was doing a solo. Tara seemed more enamored of Oz’s musical abilities than Willow was, really. Tara apparently hadn’t been sure she wanted to get involved with Willow if she was still with Oz, but he and Willow had told her it was okay if they did, and in the meantime, Willow still  _really_ wanted to be friends. At first that was all they had been, Oz and Willow together, Willow and Tara friends. But after a month or so Tara and Willow got carried away with the magic one night…. And the three of them had never looked back since.

        They had been doing really well together. Willow had confessed some of what went on with them to Buffy with smiles on her face, sometimes so touched by one or another of them that she’d get tears of joy.

        Oz and Tara were friends now, genuine friends. Willow and Tara had had much more than vague kisses. And Willow and Oz were still as in love as they’d ever been. While Tara was not interested in Oz in a sexual way, when they weren’t being sexual they’d be sensual, rubbing backs, and sharing clothes, and sleeping in the same bed. They’d even been naked hot-tubbing once when Oz took both Willow and Tara on the road for a show.

        Oz’s reputation had soared, of course. Everyone thought he had two girlfriends, and he didn’t disabuse them of that notion, mostly by being laconic Oz and just not saying much. Apparently he’d confessed to Willow that he’d probably like to make their V into a closed triangle, where he’d be doing things with Tara, as well, but if Tara really wasn’t interested in men – not even a specific Oz shaped man—he could respect that. In the meantime he just kept being incredibly kind and attentive to her, not seducing her, but leaving the door open if one night, possibly with Willow along for company, Tara might want to seduce  _him_.

        In a way, that was Willow’s dream too. She wanted both Oz and Tara to experience the sheer bliss she was undergoing with two deeply beloved and devoted partners. For now they were a happy V, with Willow as the hinge point. Maybe one day they’d close the triangle. It was one more facet to explore, if they chose to.

        That was the thing, Willow said. There was always something to explore. Me and him. Me and her. Her and him. Her and him and me. Her and him and me and sometimes Xander, in a non-sexual sense. It was as if someone had opened a Pandora’s box and everything had spilled out, but all there was inside was love, love, washing over and into everything, making the sky bluer and the birds sweeter and the air fresher and life more beautiful.

        It was a little sickening, actually, for a girl who had expected true marital bliss with her one true love, and who somehow wasn’t quite there. But she’d told Willow she was happy for her, and she had meant it.  Now she reiterated it. “I’m really happy for you,” she said to Tara. “It’s nice to see you guys.”

        “It’s nice to see you, too,” Tara said softly. She was more animated around just Willow and Oz, Buffy had seen from across the room. Buffy still made her nervous.

        But there was something else Buffy was seeing from across the room. Spike had finished his dance with an expert kiss to his victim, who stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. Spike murmured something back, and they left the dance floor.

        The dance marked the end of the set. Oz left the stage to join Willow and Tara at their table while some quieter canned music started up for the intermission, and Buffy lost track of Spike.

          “What do you think?” Oz asked.

        “I think you dropped a chord in the second chorus,” Tara said, smiling at her own daring. “But you made it work.”

        “I keep telling you, we could use you as a backup singer for Flight. That song needs a woman’s voice.”

        “No, no, I c-couldn’t.”

        “You sing just fine in the dorm,” Oz said, but he left it there before Tara’s shyness overtook her again.

        Buffy’s eyes had tried to follow that distinctive coif, but Spike was gone. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go… check something.” She got up from the table and popped her head out into the alley. It was cold and empty there, Spike wouldn’t have had time… no. Somewhere else. She went back in and gazed up at the balcony. She hated it when he headed up there, and she suspected he knew she hated it. Not there. What about that dark corner by the balcony stairs? She slipped through the busy crowd and spotted it. Spike with his conquest pressed up against the wall, vacant eyed and sagging as she and Spike necked with abandon.

        “Spike,” Buffy said,

        Spike let go of his dinner to look sardonically over his shoulder. “If it isn’t the slayer inspection service, come to confirm the utter lack of killing that is going on.” The victim sagged against the wall, and Spike caught her with one hand. “Hang on there, uh… Beth. Don’t want to be giving Buffy here a wrong impression.”

        The girl’s neck was bleeding from two puncture marks in the middle of a hickey, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Tess,” the girl murmured sleepily. “Name’s Tess.”

        “Right, I knew that,” Spike said. “See, she’s perfectly alive, slayer. You can stop checking up on me.”

        “How many girls a night do you do this with?” Buffy demanded.

        “I’m not killing. You made one request,” Spike said. “I’m complying. There were never any stipulations about how often or who.”

        “You’re still hunting these girls. Dance floor or no.”

        “Yeah, well, don’t complain about my methods,” Spike said. “Or would you rather I was grabbing girls in dark alleys and taking my pleasure from them violently?” He said it with an edge to his voice that made something in Buffy squirm uncomfortably. Would he do that? Yeah, of course he would. “As for hunting here, I’m no different than half the other people in this meat market.”

        Buffy had to concede, anyone who was willing to go for a one-night-stand was risking as much as they were with a vampire who had promised not to kill. Far better than the trauma of grabbing victims off the streets and leaving them bleeding and vulnerable on the side of the road. Spike’s method of getting blood without killing seemed quite seductive.

        Which was part of Buffy’s problem.  _No, it isn’t_.  _Yes it is._   _Shut up. Make me!_ Buffy’s internal arguments had begun getting more and more contentious when it came to Spike. “You,” she said to the girl, who seemed to have trouble standing. “Go to the bar. Ask the bartender for a cookie and a glass of orange juice, and get a rare steak into you in the next couple days, okay? Go on.”  Buffy shoved her gently toward the bar.

          “Cookie… orange juice…” the girl said dully. “Can’t I stay with you?” she asked Spike.

        “No,” Buffy said fiercely.

        The girl went away reluctantly. Spike looked disgustedly at Buffy. “Did you really instigate a cookie and orange juice regime?” Spike asked. “Not really pub fare.”

        “Only with Cordelia,” Buffy said. “She knows what you’re doing. I pay for them myself. It’s what the red cross does.”

        “I guess you’re still supplying me my blood, then,” Spike said, and his hand slipped down her arm, as if slayer healing hadn’t already erased almost all trace of his bitemarks.

        Buffy brushed his hand off as if it were an annoying fly. “Thanks for keeping your promise, but do you have to keep hunting the  _Bronze?_  I mean, that’s supposed to be my place.”

        “We never declared territories, me and Angel. Or me and you for that matter. This is the choicest club in town for a one-nighter. Since that’s all these can be.”

        “One night stands,” Buffy said. “Is that ever what they really are?”

        Spike cocked his head at her. “If you’re asking about how many of them have been sharing my knickers, I’d say you rescinded the right to know that when you went back to Mister Destiny. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve made me lose half my lunch. She wasn’t near drained enough. I’m going to have to start all over again on someone else.” He leaned back, people watching. “What do you say about that sweet looking prospect in the purple? I’ll bet I could show ‘em a good time.”

        “She’s not available,” Buffy said, looking where he was gesturing. “Don’t you see the guy on her arm? He’d break your nose.”

        “Not her,” Spike said. “Bloke just behind them.”

        Buffy switched her focus to see a lithe, anxious looking fellow in a lavender fedora, and she realized, yep. Spike could easily seduce him, too.

        Some part of her wished he’d still do a little seduction on her.

        Then she slammed the door shut on that thought, hard enough that she winced, and glared at Spike. “Fine. Whatever you want, whoever you want. But I’d better not hear of any rash of murders.”

        “Thought I’d made myself clear on that score, slayer. Harsh price to pay for services rendered, I might add.”

        “Is that what you think?” Buffy asked, looking up at him in some surprise.

        “Isn’t it?”

        Buffy felt sick. Taking their last night together, when he was nothing but vulnerable and desperate and terrified, and reducing it to  _services rendered_ , like some business exchange, like some whore. It didn’t seem right. And come to think of it, she wasn’t sure which one of them he was calling a whore.

        “Now I have a meal to catch. If you’ll excuse me, slayer, au revoir.” He sauntered halfway through the crowd to the young man in the fedora, and bought him a drink. Buffy suspected he was underage. Oh, what did it matter? Her Spike door was firmly wedged open, because she kept wanting to see him -- hunting at the Bronze, wandering the graveyards looking for demons to slay so he could get some violence in and still keep his promise. The fact that he seemed to be keeping his promise was almost painful.

        And she still hadn’t shaken those Spike dreams.

        She went back to her friends, not happy.

 

***

 

        Angel was… not happy.

        He wished he was. He thought he should be. But the moment he got to the bar to get their drinks, he found himself perching on his usual stool and asking Cordelia for a shot. He’d missed doing that. He’d thought he’d stop needing to talk to Cordelia once he was able to take Buffy to his bed, but Cordelia still had insights into things that he didn’t seem able to talk about with Buffy. Unfortunately Cordelia had been rather terse with him these days, so he’d usually been leaving her alone. Which mostly just meant he missed her.

        “So how’s love everlasting?” she asked. “You looked like you were getting on.”

        “We are. We were. It’s great,” Angel said. “Really, really great.”

        “You say that every time you come in here,” Cordelia said. “It’s getting old.”

        “Well, it’s like we’re newlyweds,” he said. “Things are supposed to be great.”

        “Hey, if you can just up and forgive her for fucking around on you with Spike, that’s fine with me,” Cordelia said. “Just don’t expect me to understand it.” She poured him his shot.

        “You forgave Xander.”

        “What?”

        “When he and Willow…?”

        “He made it up to me. Besides, what else could I do?” Cordy snapped back. “Not as if men are beating a pathway to my door anymore. And I like sex, sue me.”

        “What is it with women and sex?” he asked. “I swear, women want it more than men do. In my day they knew that. I don’t know why everyone in this day and age insists it’s the other way around.”

        “Because men are pigs,” Cordelia said. “Clear enough for you?”

        “That’s not exactly flattering.”

        “Well, you’re not exactly a man,” Cordy said. “Don’t let it bother you.” She shoved a towel across the bar with irritation.

        “Are you okay?”

        “I’m fine,” Cordy said. “I’m just fine. Glad you’re having fun with all the sex and everything. Glad I could sort that out for you.”

        “You seem mad at me about it.”

        “Me? Mad? Why should I be mad? Just because I saved your marriage for you, just because you would have wandered off in a miserable heap of  _I can’t fuck my one true love_ , just because you just forgot Buffy cheated on you with another vampire, there’s no reason at all that I should be  _mad_.”

        “You did save my marriage,” Angel said gently. “And I’ll never forget it.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Never.”

        Cordy sighed and took her hand away. “Look. I’m really happy for you. Wish the best for you both. I trust you’re still fucking away with abandon?”

        “Well, yeah,” Angel said. “Wish she’d ease up a little, actually.”

        It was the first time he’d admitted that to Cordy, and her eyes locked on his. “What do you mean?”

        “She’s… just a little too… enthusiastic for my taste.”

        The truth was, she was wanton. He didn’t know what Spike had taught her, but she was incredibly demanding in the bedroom. The first couple of times she’d let him do as he pleased, but then she started asking for more. Wrestling, for instance. And spanking. And she really liked to be on top. She also had a thing for doing it all over the house, like on the floor or against the wall. At first it was fun, but she wouldn’t stop. It reminded him of Darla, and he didn’t like it. He blamed Spike entirely. He’d done things to her. The first time with Buffy, when Angel had lost his soul in her, it had felt like magic. She’d been innocent and pure and virginal. Now… it was just sex.

        “It feels like she’s using the sex to avoid something,” Angel finally admitted.

        “Avoid what?”

        “I don’t know,” Angel said. “But she gets distant, and then suddenly she wants to do something with me.

        “Distant, huh? What do you think she could be thinking about?”

        “I don’t know. Maybe she’s realized I’m not really human. Even with making love.”

        Cordy rolled her eyes. “She knows you’re not human. She’s always known you’re not human. When she cheated on you, she cheated on you with a not-human. I don’t think she minds that you’re not human.”

        “I wish you’d stop bringing that up,” Angel said. “I’ve forgiven her for that. Just like she’s forgiven me.”

        “For condemning her a life of celibacy without bothering to figure out if you had to?” Cordy asked.

        “I meant for who I used to be. If she doesn’t care about the things I’ve done, why should I care about the things she has?”

        “Oh, let’s see. Because people aren’t clichés?”

        Angel glared. “You’re really not being fair to her.”

        “Neither were you,” Cordy said. “Why are you suddenly all fairness doctrine now? Is it because you can fuck her now, or what?”

        Angel took in a deep breath. He couldn’t handle this conversation. “I need a Diet Coke,” he said brusquely. “For Buffy.”

        “Diet Coke,” Cordy said. She fumbled out a glass. “Of course. Because getting you your drinks is all I’m good for.”

        “I thought it was your job.”

        “Not because I like it!”

        “Will you just get me the drink?”

        “Fine.”

        “Fine!”

        Angel plunked down a handful of money, and Cordy snatched it up as she shoved the drink at him.

        “I used to like you,” he said.

        “I used to like you, too,” Cordy snapped.

        And that was that.

        Angel went back to Buffy, still not happy.  

       

***

       

        Cordelia was… not happy.

        Not remotely.

        The words echoed in her mind.  _I used to like you, I used to like you, I used to like you._

        She’d used to like him. Now she was desperately in love with him, and she wished she wasn’t.

        She didn’t know if it was the kiss that did it, or if all those evenings when he’d come to her with his tortured soul and his tortured marriage had touched her heart deeply enough that she couldn’t let it go now that it was over. And it was over. It had barely even started before it was over. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath.

        “Hey, Corduroy-Cordy, how’s it going?”

        Cordelia opened her eyes and glared at Xander, who was leaning over the bar.  “Don’t call me that.”

        “I thought it was cute.”

        “Well, I don’t,” Cordy snapped. “What do you want?”

        “Well, I wanted to say hello,” Xander said, sounding annoyed in turn. “But now I sort of want to say goodbye.”

        “Why don’t you do it, then?”

        Xander’s brow furrowed. “What’s with you? You’ve been even more of a bitch than usual these days.”

        “What’s it matter to you?”

        Xander took in a deep breath. “I  _was_  going to ask if you wanted me to drive you home after your shift.”

        “You just wanted to take me home and fuck me,” Cordy snapped.

        “So… what’s wrong with that?” Xander asked. “I thought that was what we had. You fuck me, I fuck you, and both of us complain about not having anyone else to fuck.”

        “God, you’re so crass.”

        “Choice of word was yours.”

        “You didn’t have to stick with it.”

        Xander leaned away from the bar. “Something’s wrong. What have I done?”

        “Nothing,” Cordy said. “You’ve done  _nothing_. You’ve done nothing with your life, nothing with your self, nothing with your appearance. You’ve done nothing. And I’m doing  _nothing_  staying with you. Nothing good happens to me. Only  _you_  happen to me.”

        “You know, I don’t think you’re being fair,” Xander said. “Or very nice, for that matter.”

        “What does it matter if I’m nice?” Cordy asked. “It’s not as if we have, as you so eloquently put it, anyone else to fuck.”

        “Sure I do,” Xander said. Cordy looked up. It was true they had both gone on dates with other people, but as far as she knew, none of them had reached boinking stage. She knew they hadn’t with her.

        “Like who?”

        “Like Anya,” Xander said.

        “That demon girl you went to prom with?” Cordy said. “She’s not even human.”

        “She is now,” Xander said.

        “She’s a vengeance demon. Or was. Why would she try to have sex with you when she knows you’re with me?”

        “Well, I’m not with you, am I?” Xander asked. “That’s why we date other people.”

        “Have you dated her?”

        “Once or twice,” Xander said. “That’s all it’s been, but it could have been more if I wanted. She keeps propositioning me for sex.”

        Cordy felt ice clench her chest. Of  _course_  Xander was being propositioned. Of  _course_  he had someone else on the side. He was still whole. He was still normal. He wasn’t scarred. He wasn’t broken. He wasn’t dying inside of love for someone who would never love him back.

        “Well, if you want to have sex with Anya, have sex with Anya!” Cordy shouted, loud enough for several club patrons to turn her way, staring. “What the hell do I care?”

        “You know what?” Xander said. “I think I will.” And he stalked away across the dance floor, to where, sure enough, Anya sat on her own, nursing a soda and waiting for the live music to start again.

        Cordy watched him go. Not happy.

 

***

 

        Anya was thrilled.

 

 


	21. Enough

 

        Spike had always known this was going to suck.

        He’d fallen hot and hard for Buffy, had lost her to – or inevitably failed to win her from – his arch-rival, and had for some insane reason agreed not to kill for her,  _even though_  he hadn’t won her. He’d thought about abandoning his unspoken promise (because the bird really hadn’t gotten him to agree before Angel had popped in and romantically swept her off her feet again) and just going hog wild with the slaughter. Killing five or six humans would take that god damned geas off his heart, wouldn’t it? Sometimes he thought about killing right in front of her, just to see if she’d get brassed off enough to fight him properly. Maybe if they fought properly again, she’d take it into her head to shag him like before.

        He thought about attacking her. Attacking her, attacking Angel, making it clear that he was going to fight for his mate. He had no chip, no ties, no reason not to fight. Except for the fact that Angel would win with the damn ring. And Buffy didn’t want Spike to fight for her.  

        More, he thought about just leaving. Leave Sunnydale, leave the States even, go back across the pond, across the world, leave the Slayer and her eyes and her hair and her soft tits and her intoxicating scent and the strength in her fist and good god, how could he possibly leave? He needed to be  _near_  her, if nothing else.

        But even the joy of drinking hot blood again had turned to ashes.

        He’d had nearly a year with that chip in, eating nothing but cold, drugged blood, or cold pig supplement if he could swallow his pride enough to hit the butcher shop. The only hot, living blood he had tasted had been Buffy’s… and Buffy’s had been the sweetest ambrosia. One swallow and he’d felt like a god again.

        He looked over his victim’s shoulder, down over the railing at Buffy, who was watching the balcony with one eye while she sat with her arm twined with Angel’s. Buffy knew Spike was there, and Spike was sure she was showing off for him. Angel knew Spike was there, but Angel seemed to only have eyes for Buffy, almost pointedly so. And there she was. Showing off her perfect relationship with her perfect lover, who could apparently shag her now with impunity.

        The blood tasted sour in Spike’s mouth, and he tried to suck harder at the boy in his arms, but it wasn’t satisfying. He considered dropping him over the railing, but he was pretty sure that severely maiming the guy would constitute attempt-to-kill, and probably would have Buffy trying to dust him, with Angel in tow for extra fun.

        No.

        The boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen – not any older than Buffy, really – and had been perfectly willing to hang out and chat in exchange for a few illicitly bought beers. It didn’t take much to lull him with some semi-hypnotic talk and then go in for the embrace. Once the bite started it was usually easy to keep them quiescent, just a touch of the venom or whatever it was in his saliva that kept the blood junkies coming back for more. Those who Spike targeted, who hadn’t ever been tapped yet, they didn’t seem to have the vaguest clue what was happening to them.

        Spike had hoped seducing the boy would catch Buffy’s imagination. The girls had been working, sort of, drawing Buffy’s attention at least, but he had to up his game. Particularly tonight, with Angel in the picture. Maybe someone cute enough in his own right to draw her eye. That was why he’d chosen to take the boy up to the balcony, right where he had been with her. Right on that spot. Always there. Buffy  _hated_  it when he went to the balcony, he could tell. Trouble was, it was emotionally draining to put on this show, when what he wanted in his arms was Buffy. It was worse on the balcony; he didn’t always have the stones for it.

        It was a waste of stones tonight, cute vic or no, as Buffy only glared up at him from time to time, and then turned back to Angel, who comfortably wrapped his arm around her. Then they kissed warmly, almost artistically, and Spike lost patience. He let the boy go just as Buffy looked up at him again. The boy went to his knees before Spike. Spike raised an eyebrow. Well, that had worked out well. Buffy blushed. He could see it from here. His eyes locked on hers, but she firmly turned her head away and whispered something to Angel.

        They stood up, Spike thought at first to dance, but – no. No, she was leading him away. She was taking Angel away from the Bronze. She was taking Angel away from the Bronze so that she could go and fuck him, Spike knew she was.

        He let the boy slip sideways to the ground; he had an inane smile on his face. Pathetic. Spike began to stalk down the stairs.

        “Hey, don’t go, man,” said the boy, crawling onto his knees. “Give me another hit of whatever that was.”

        Spike couldn’t be bothered. He hunted the pristine. The untapped. Blood junkies all tasted watery to him. He couldn’t be bothered to bite them twice. “Look for a bird called Harmony,” he suggested. “She’ll have what you’re after, if you want it that bad.”

        “Harmony?”

        “Bar waitress knows her,” Spike said, indicating Cordelia with his chin. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

        “Oh… okay.”

        He hated it when victims went clingy and cuddly. It didn’t bother him with a pet or someone he cared about ( _like, for instance, Buffy!_ hissed his ungovernable subconscious) but with his throwaways it was like being mobbed by a slobbering dog you’d never loved. Just get off, get off me. He was pretty sure Cordy didn’t like being the go-to contact for blood junkies, either, but since he was now pretty much banned from Cordelia’s apartment for no longer being Harmony’s boy toy, he didn’t mind annoying Cordelia. He sauntered down the stairs and jerked his thumb over his shoulder when he passed Cordy.

        “Got another customer for the Red Cross, pet. Might want to deploy the cookies and orange juice.”

        Cordelia glared at him. “I’m not supposed to have to hunt them down after you leave them where they lie,” she said. “Can’t you just bring them down to me?”

        “Not my auspices, pet, I was only told not to kill them. What state I leave them in, that’s your affair.”

        “No,” Cordelia snapped. “It’s  _your_  affair. Your affair that threw everything out of whack, threw Angel in bed with Buffy, and made my life a living hell.”

        “Welcome to the neighborhood, then,” he said glumly. Neither of them were happy with the situation, and they both bloody knew it.

        Spike poked his head out into the alley, wondering if Buffy was out there. That’s where he’d be if he was Buffy’s husband, shagging her half-publicly in the alley, just to get her off. She had a touch of exhibitionism, that girl. But she wasn’t getting shagged in the alley where he could come upon them and interrupt. ( _Or join in?_  The thought was a traitor to his mind.) What the hell would she be leaving her mates for if not that? The second set had just started. But leaving she was. He turned the corner to the parking lot just in time to see Angel’s tail lights as they scooted up the road.

        Bloody hell. The idea of Angel touching her, Angel holding her, Angel taking her, biting her, making love to her. Spike felt like he’d been impaled by a stake, but instead of dust it was just twisted inside his chest, making a hash of his insides.

        Angel was good at making hashes of insides.

        He had to get out of here. He stomped over to his DeSoto, slouched into the driver’s seat, and glanced at the glove box.

        No.

        He shoved the car into gear and backed up out of the parking lot, tires squealing. He had to get over this. He had to… to… do something. Get a victim. (He’d tried that.) Find some bird to screw. (Harmony had proven, he got nowhere with that.) Get drunk. (It never helped for long.)

        He glanced at the glove box.

        No.

        He shoved at the gears and directed the car toward the interstate, tape deck blaring. Maybe he should never come back. No, he knew he'd come back.... Maybe he should go see Joyce and the niblet, maybe they were up to a video or something? No. He was too keyed up for lounging on the couch watching Thelma and Louise. What did he want? (Buffy.)

        He glanced at the glove box again.

        Damn it. There was nothing for it. He pulled the car over into the parking lot of a closed business, reached for the glove box, and pulled it out.

        His hands bloody shook as he did it.

        The cookie tin was like a coke spoon or something, he fondled it and dreamed for a moment, wondering if he could put it back. No. He couldn’t possibly. He climbed into the back seat and tenderly opened it up.

        Buffy’s blood and sex-stained silk teddy was nestled snugly in the box. He’d taped a picture of a smiling Buffy onto the cover, the rest of his pictures carefully hidden beneath the teddy. He knew he shouldn’t take it out this much. The scent was beginning to fade. At first it had smelt so strongly of her, but the more he took it out and fondled it, the more it smelled like him instead. But there was nothing for it tonight. He took it in his hands and inhaled deeply. Slayer. Old blood and old fluid and old sweat, and it was all old and fading, and he didn’t care. He breathed it in, the only air he ever needed. Buffy’s scent.

        He let his fingers travel over the silk as he pulled out her pictures, gently leafing through them. Buffy smiling. Buffy lounging. Buffy sleeping. He was so glad Joyce had shown him her photo album, because he could steal his favorites. God, she was so beautiful. Those teeth, that quirky nose, that snub little chin, that hair like a goddamn shampoo commercial. The scent tickled him deep inside, and he reached for his jeans, undoing his belt and unzipping carefully as his already hard cock begged for contact.

        It wasn’t satisfying. His hand was no substitute for Buffy’s hand, and Buffy’s lips, and Buffy’s skin.  _Is this mine?_

        Memories of the last time they had sex scratched at him.  _Is this mine? Is this? Is this?_  Yes, damn you, bitch, every bit of it. Every goddamn bit of it….

        Tears pricked at his eyes, and he gulped them back as he kept working at his cock. It was stupid to cry over some stupid selfish bitch he’d just been shagging to relieve the boredom. It was!

        But he knew he was lying to himself. He’d loved Buffy from the moment he’d shagged her. Possibly from the first time they’d fought together. He’d had chances to kill her, and had kept letting her live. He’d had chances to hurt her, killing her sister, her watcher, her mum, and he’d declined to do any of those. He didn’t want her dead, he didn’t want her hurt, he didn’t want her suffering – he wanted her in his arms and beneath him and above him and inside him. He wanted to curl up against her and sleep. He wanted to kneel at her feet. He wanted to be her bloody slave if it meant she’d even give him a fraction of what they’d had before. Even if she didn’t love him. Even if she’d only ever give her love to Angel.

        Of course she’d only love Angel. He, Spike, was a pathetic wanker.

        Even staring at Buffy’s smiling face as he came, Spike felt almost nothing. It was beer instead of whiskey, it was pigs blood instead of human, it was caffeine instead of cocaine. It just wasn’t enough. He gathered the teddy to his face and breathed in her scent, alone and worthless in the back of his car.

        He knew he shouldn’t do this. His tears mucked up her scent. He had to work really hard not to get them on the silk. He couldn’t help it.

           It just wasn’t enough.

 

***

        Angel liked silk. He claimed he’d never liked the wealthy girls of his time period, but Buffy knew he liked women in silk.

        Maybe it was the shirt, or maybe it was Spike. Angel had been extremely attentive at the Bronze, and Buffy had been… distracted from the music by Spike, so when Buffy made the suggestion that they find somewhere more private, Angel had been all over it. He’d taken her outside, and right into the car to drive her home. Buffy unzipped his pants and had her hands all over his cock on the way. He had a hard time driving.

        Then they got home, and he carried her to his bedroom, and made love to her with tenderness and passion, and Buffy couldn’t help but still want  _more_. She gripped and grabbed at him, trying to guide his hips, bite at his flesh, encouraged him to take her more roughly. But as always he pulled away when it got too hard. “We don’t need to be like that,” he said.

        “Yeah,” Buffy said. “But it’s hot.” She dug her nails into his shoulder. “Don’t you ever want to pretend I’m your victim?”

        “No,” he said. “I’ve had enough victims.”

        Buffy’s heart clenched. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

        “It’s all right. This is my fault.” Angel cupped her cheek. “I should never have let it get to the point where you had to let Spike damage you.”

        Buffy swallowed. This wasn’t the first time Angel had said something like this. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m recovering.” She ran her hands through Angel’s hair. “You and me both are.”

        Angel smiled then. “We are. Let me give you more.” He kissed her, kissed her throat, kissed down her torso, and then settled in between her legs. Buffy lay back and let him work on her, enjoying the sensation of his cool tongue against her clit. She wished to god she could have been having this all this time, having Angel loving her, properly loving her, and showing her in all the ways possible. She liked that he was willing to go down on her now that they were able to have sex at all.

        It started to feel good, then feel really good, and she groaned with the joy of it, and then just when it was starting to get really, _really_ good, Angel crawled back up over her and began making love to her again. Unfortunately he didn’t have the angle he’d had before, and it wasn’t as good as it had been when he’d had his mouth on her, but she felt bad about the idea of stopping him and asking for more oral. She wished he’d use his strength on her. She tried to show him what she wanted, trying to wrestle with his arms, but he just kept holding her gently, making love to her carefully, and while it had been nice at first….  _No, it is not getting old!_  Buffy told herself.

        But she couldn’t help but admit, there was something missing. Because as soon as Angel had come again, and Buffy coyly asked him for some water, and he went off to get it, she did what she always did. Slipped her hands beneath the covers and scrubbed at her clit, forcing it past that early, safe layer of pleasure she used to accept as adequate. Because somehow, as attentive as Angel tried to be, as much as she loved him… he never quite brought her over the edge.

        She could hear him coming back, so she hurried, forcing the pleasure out as fast as she could, thinking about anything that could make her come quickly.  _Is this mine?_  she asked Spike in her head.  _Is this mine? And this?_ And she just about made it. She kept her right hand on it, keeping the pressure down as she reached for the water with her left. “Thanks, honey,” she said, hoping he assumed her flush was from their earlier lovemaking, rather than jilling it off under the covers when he wasn’t looking, because she was too embarrassed to admit he hadn’t  _quite_  gotten her there.

        She released her clit and drank the water gratefully, sitting up so that Angel could cuddle her. That was something she had  _no_  regrets about. Finally being able to have him in bed beside her, roll over and hold him, just to know he was  _there_. That he was there and that he loved her. It made up for everything she wasn’t getting any longer from her erstwhile affair with Spike. She hadn’t gotten that from Spike.  _Only because_  you _never let it happen_ , she reminded herself.

        “Everything okay?” Angel asked as he settled back into bed beside her.

        “It’s great,” Buffy said. “Why do you ask?”

        “I just wondered if Spike upset you this evening,” Angel asked. “You seemed to want to get out of there pretty quickly, and you were so keen on going earlier….”

        “Yeah, well,” Buffy said. Spike hadn’t exactly  _upset_  her. But he had been very distracting.

        For that matter, as much as she’d wanted to see Xander and Willow, Willow’s perfect little thrupple (was thrupple a word?) with Oz and Tara was distracting, too. It all seemed so easy for Willow to have both cakes and eat them too. She knew it took time and energy and communication and everything, all of which were things she was short on. And she knew that with the way Spike and Angel felt about each other she could never have kept Angel and still had what she was getting from Spike. But… she had to admit to herself. Sometimes she did miss him.

        She knew how wrong that was.

        “You know, we don’t have to let Spike keep doing this,” Angel said.

        Being sexy and erotic at the worst possible moments? “Doing what?”

        “Feeding on human beings. We can just take care of it.”

        Buffy looked up at him. “No,” she said. “We can’t just dust him, it wouldn’t be fair. He’s not killing, and he helped me when I needed help. Just because we don’t like him doesn’t mean we can just… be as evil as he is.”

        “You sure you don’t like him?” Angel asked.

        “I’ve told you, I don’t like him!” Buffy said. She set her water glass down on the bedside table, not incidentally rolling away from Angel. “What we were doing wasn’t about love, it was about need, all right? I thought I explained that.”

        “You explained that,” Angel said. “And I didn’t necessarily mean dust him. I mean we could just run him out of town. You shouldn’t have to be reminded of all the things he did to you.”

        Did to her. Did  _with_  her. It was hard to explain to Angel that she’d actually liked the things he’d done, despite the bruises, and the bite marks, and the danger, and the lies. It was too hard to make sense of it even for herself, let alone try and make Angel understand. Sometimes Buffy wondered what Angel’s soul did to him that he couldn’t even play in bed. She would have liked playing the victim some time. She would have liked wrestling with him, and fighting with him. But instead they had what they had, and it was wonderful, beautiful, passionate, magical.

        So what if she had to get herself off when Angel wasn’t looking? It wasn’t as if there was anything else she could do. It wasn’t as if she could ask for more when she was getting everything she could possibly have wanted from Angel. What right did she have to feel like it wasn’t enough? It was enough. It had to be enough.

        It just had to be.


	22. Real

        “ _Just get me to the airport, put me on a plane, hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane, I can’t control my fingers, I can’t control my brain. Oh, no, no, no, oh, oh!_ ”

        Dawn could headbang with the best of them when she felt like it. Spike’s punk rock was fun. “I’m glad you finally got electricity down here,” she told him when they were done rocking out with the song.

        Spike laughed over his cards. He’d said that broadening her taste in music was now a prerequisite for their afternoon get-togethers. Always good to contribute to the corruption of the young. “Yeah, was getting sick of not having any tunes,” he said. “May not need plumbing like a human, but a good record player, now that’s a necessity of life. And I wanted a fridge.”

        “Why?”

        “Keep my beer cool,” Spike said, as if he was avoiding something. Dawn suspected he kept blood in it, just like Angel did. Though why he’d want to keep that secret, she wasn’t sure. She thought he was embarrassed about listening to Buffy.

        “Why don’t you need plumbing?” Dawn asked. She moved her arm and knocked over a handful of old skulls. “Sorry,” she said as they clattered on the floor. “And don’t you get cold in here?”

        “Don’t need heat, either,” Spike said. “All part and parcel of being dead.”

        “Yeah, but you’re  _not_  dead,” Dawn said. “You get up and you move around and you eat. Don’t you go to the bathroom at all?”

        “I need a shower sometimes,” Spike admitted. “Dirt knows no species. I can use a hose, I don’t need it hot. But a toilet, no. According to those buggers who shoved that chip up my skull, it’s a near perfect absorption of calories, all converted into energy,” Spike said. “But it’s not something I ever bothered to research.”

        “But you paid attention,” Dawn said.

        “Had to. Was trying to get them to let me out of their cells, wasn’t I?”

        “How many demons did you have to take out before they stopped chasing you?”

        “Lost track,” Spike said. “Your turn or what?”

        “Oh, yeah.” Dawn looked back at her hand of rummy. She thought she was losing. “Wouldn’t you rather get out of here?” she asked.

        “And do what?” Spike asked.

        “Well… you could show me how you hunt.”

        “I don’t think big sis would be too pleased about that,” Spike said. “Besides, it’s still daylight. We’d have to go all the way to the mall or sommat.”

        “I could do that!”

        “No, thanks,” Spike said. “Rather wait for my own element.  _The darkness._ ”

        He’d said it with a sinister trickle to his voice, but Dawn only giggled. He spent a lot of time trying to scare her, but as she’d said before, if he was going to kill her, he’d have done it already.

        Since the first time she’d met Spike, he’d seemed to have a soft spot for her. He kept her captive for a while on Parent’s Night, rather than killing her outright, and that was when he was still totally evil. When she’d been turned into a walking skeleton on Halloween, she’d been part of his entourage of mini-nasties when he went to look for Buffy. That time Angel had kidnapped her and broke her arm, Spike had suggested she was better as a hostage than dead. When he’d first come to offer his truce to Buffy, he and Dawn had cracked jokes while Mom anxiously made small talk.

        After that it was like they were real buddies. Sharing hot cocoa, talking about cartoons, and demons, and music. She’d shown him her adolescent attempts at poetry, and he’d helped her with rhyme schemes. When he and Buffy had started bumping uglies, Dawn had been all over the idea. She loved the idea of Spike rather than Angel as a brother-in-law. Angel never watched Saturday morning cartoons, or ate sugar cereal, or even really ever looked at Dawn. He just snuck into the house and took Buffy away from them, over and over and over again. Spike strode into the house boldly, and then hung out eating doughnuts and laughing about old demons he’d known.

        “But when the sun sets, will you let me watch you?” Dawn said. “I’ll sit in the corner, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

        “You might distract the dynamic, pigeon.”

        “Oh, but I wanna see it. Buffy says it’s disgusting to watch, but it can’t be really, or she wouldn’t have gone for it.” She leaned forward. “I saw her bite marks.”

        “Something that feels good doesn’t always look good from the outside,” Spike said. “I don’t think you really want to see.”

“But I do! It’s not like you’d be killing them for real.”

“Buffy would be livid, all right?” Spike said. “No go.”

        Dawn sagged. “I just don’t want to go home.”

        “We’ll, you’ll have to,” Spike said firmly, flipping another card. “Why don’t you want to?” he finally asked.

        She’d been anxiously waiting for that. “Mom keeps getting these headaches, and I need to be like one hundred percent quiet when she has them, and it’s really annoying.”

        “Joyce okay?”

        “I don’t know,” Dawn said. “She says it’s nothing. But she went to the hospital the other day, and I’m worried.”

        “How’s big sis feel about it?”

        “She’s worried, too.”

        “Hm,” he said. “Yeah, she sure sounds worried.”

        “Huh?”

        Spike nodded at the door to the crypt he’d found. A second later it burst open, and in came Buffy, scowling. “There you are!” she snapped at Dawn. “I knew you’d come back here.”

        Dawn rolled her eyes. “ _You_  always came to Spike,” she said. “Why shouldn’t  _I_?”

        “You know exactly why you shouldn’t!” Buffy snapped. She grabbed Dawn’s arm and pulled her from off the sarcophagus. “Mom was worried sick.”

        “Oh, come on,” Dawn said. “I’m not a child.”

        “Yes, you are!” Buffy snapped. “And you’re going home right now.”

        “That’s not fair!” Dawn protested. “Spike, tell Buffy it’s not fair.”

        “Buffy’s real good at not being fair, little bit,” Spike said. “Best to just roll with the punches. As it were.”

        “You shut up,” Buffy said. “How come you never send her home?”

        “Hello? Sunlight. It’s either let her stay or kill her, I sure as hell can’t walk her home.”

        “Oh, shut up!” Buffy said, punching Spike in the chest.

        He staggered a little, but seemed unfazed. “You might want to stop with the violence, love. Give a bloke the wrong idea. In front of little sis, no less.”

        “Ew. Are you guys gonna start flirting?”

        “We’re already flirting,” Spike told Dawn.

        “ _Ew!_ ” Dawn turned to Buffy. “I thought you said you were done with him?”

        “I  _am_  done with him.”

        “Then why can’t I play with him?” Dawn asked.

        “ _You_  are only fourteen years old,” Buffy said. “And you’re coming home with me.”

        “Aw, Buffy.”

        “Aw, Buffy,” Spike mocked. “Come on, pet. Why not let her find out what a real demon is like?”

        “Mom’s got a headache,” Dawn said to Buffy. “I hate having to be quiet.”

        “Fine. Then you’re coming home with me and Angel.”

        “Because one vampire is so much better than the other,” Spike said in such a sage and wise way that the sarcasm was palpable.

        “Just leave my sister alone, can’t you?”

        “Fine,” Spike said. “I’ll leave her alone the moment she leaves me alone.”

        Buffy took Dawn’s arm and led her out of the crypt.

        “I’ll go check in on Joyce soon as it gets dark, yeah?” he called after them.

        Dawn wrestled her arm out of Buffy’s hands as they trudged glumly towards the edge of the cemetery. “Did Mom  _really_ send you after me?” Dawn asked. “Or are you just jealous that I get to play with Spike and you don’t?”

        “I’m not jealous of Spike,” Buffy snapped. “And if you play anything with him besides Gin Rummy I’m going to dust him, promises or no. I don’t care how big a crush you have on him.”

        “Spike’s not gonna hurt me. He wants nothing to do with me, anyway. Not with you still in the picture.”

        “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buffy snapped.

        “Spike’s still totally in love with you,” Dawn teased. “I can’t believe you threw him over for Angel.”

        “I did not throw him over for Angel!” Buffy said. “We were never together.”

        “Sure seemed that way to Mom.”

        “And you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

        “And you shouldn’t have been sleeping around on your husband,” Dawn said. “So there.”

        “I’m not doing it anymore!” Buffy snapped. “Come on.” She pushed Dawn forward and made her buckle her seatbelt once they got to Angel’s convertible. She opened her cell phone and dialed her mother. “It’s Buffy. I got Dawn. She was at Spike’s again…. I’ll take her home with me for a few hours, until you feel better…. Okay. Get some rest. Love you.”

        Dawn sat glumly in the front seat as Buffy drove, staring out into the afternoon sun. The drive to Crawford Street took a little time. She spotted a knight in full armor striding up a hill by the road. She did a double take. “Buffy, there’s a knight over there!”

        “What?”

        “There’s a knight,” Dawn said, pointing. “And another one. Is it a renaissance fair?”

        Buffy pulled the car over, thoughtfully. “There was nothing in the paper about one….” She stopped and watched as another knight came down behind a tree and went over the hill. “Dawn? I want you to stay in the car. I need to just… check something.”

        “What are you going to check?” Dawn asked.

        “Just… if I’d caught those commandos earlier I might have gotten something done before Adam. I’m gonna check it out. Probably just some live action role play or something. Just… stay there.”

        “Of course,” Dawn said. “What else am I going to do?”

        Buffy took off up the hill, and Dawn seriously considered following her, but decided against it. She’d ask Spike about the knights tomorrow. And she kept hoping, if she kept pushing, he might let her watch him hunt. She thought it would be pretty sexy. Not that she knew a lot about being sexy, just… well, Buffy had thought vampires were sexy. Nothing wrong with just watching them work. Especially since Spike didn’t kill anyone, and Buffy bought them cookies and orange juice.

        Sometimes, just sometimes, she wished Spike would bite her. Just to see what it felt like. But she’d never gotten up the courage to suggest it to him.

        Dawn was getting bored. Buffy had taken the keys, so she couldn’t even listen to the radio. “Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go,” she sang gently. “I wanna be sedated.” It was about all she remembered of the song, but she hummed it anyway, “No da, da da da, da da, da da da. I wanna be sedated. Just put me on an airplane and da da da da da. Hurry, hurry, hurry… Come on, Buffy, hurry up.”

        “Dawn!” Buffy yelled. Dawn looked up. Buffy came barreling down the hill with a sword in her hand, looking very disturbed. The sword had blood on it.

          “What did you do?” Dawn screamed.

          “Just stay in the car!” Buffy shouted. She glanced behind her. “And get down!”

          Three knights were following not far behind, and several more popped over the hill. Buffy made a startling jump, landed behind the knights, and hamstrung one of them where his armor didn’t protect his leg. He went down. Buffy knocked another one on the head with the flat of the blade, and pushed the third down on the ground, pinning him by his shoulder where there was another gap in the armor. Then she ran to the car and jumped over Dawn’s head, landing into the driver’s seat with a gasp.

        “Ah!” Dawn screamed. “You’re bleeding!”

        “It’s just a scratch,” Buffy said. “Come on, come on.” She was fumbling in her pocket for the keys. She had just gotten them out when an arrow thumped into the side of the seat beside her, and she dropped them. “Damn! Get down!” She shoved Dawn down onto the seat.

        Dawn kept her presence of mind and scrabbled for the keys down by Buffy’s feet. “Here!” she said, shoving them into her sister’s hand.

        “Yes! Let’s go!” Buffy said, jamming the keys into the ignition.

        A clang on the back of the car told Dawn that the rest of the knights had caught up. She sat up and looked behind her as the car sped off away from the knights. Another sword was embedded in the metal of the back of the car, and at least twenty guys in armor were shouting and waving weapons. Another one took aim with his bow again, and Dawn watched it arc over and clatter uselessly off the trunk. “I think we made it,” Dawn said.

        “Unless the ones mounting horses catch us in a short cut,” Buffy said. “I don’t know why they attacked me. I was just looking, and then suddenly they were all catch the infidel or something. I really don’t like fighting humans.”

        “Are you sure they were human?” Dawn asked.

        “I don’t know. They looked human. But I can’t imagine where they came from or how they got here. There’s a whole army in that hollow.  _Someone_  in Sunnydale would have noticed their arrival.”

        “What do we do?”

        “I’m gonna tell Angel.”

        Dawn scoffed. “What’s  _he_  gonna do?”

        “I don’t know,” Buffy said. “We’ll get the gang together. Figure something out.”

        “Does the gang include Spike?”

        “No!” Buffy screeched the tires on the car as she took a turn too tight.

        “You’re really bleeding,” Dawn said at the wound in Buffy’s side.

        “I’m fine! We gotta get out of here, now!” She fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. “Call Angel. Tell him we have a problem.”

        Dawn poked at the cell phone and pulled up Angel’s number. A minute later she turned to Buffy, who was looking awfully pale. “Angel says Doyle is there, but he’ll wait and talk to you first.”

        Buffy growled at the idea of Doyle calling Angel for yet another mission. “Can’t these PTB make up their mind, and give us only one crisis at a time?” she muttered.

        Buffy was ghost white by the time they got to Crawford Street, and her shirt was half red with blood. Angel came bursting out of the mansion with concern on his face, followed by Doyle. “Buffy!” Angel’s nostrils flared at the smell of her blood. “We have to get you to a hospital—”

        “I’m fine, just bandage me up,” Buffy said. “I don’t have time for explanations at a hospital. We have to call the Scoobies. Something weird is going down.”

        “You got that right. Who’s the girl?” Doyle asked. “You rescue her or something?”

        “Very funny,” Buffy said as Angel pulled her tenderly out of the car. “For once she wasn’t in trouble.”

        “Then what’s she doing here?” Doyle asked. “Who is she?”

        Angel and Buffy looked no less confused than Dawn felt. She’d known Doyle for like a year now. Granted they’d only met a few times, but it wasn’t as if he’d never seen her before. “I’m Dawn?” Dawn said. “Buffy’s sister?”

        “You don’t have a sister,” Doyle said, turning to Buffy.

        “What are you talking about?”

        “Trust me,” Doyle said. “You’re the slayer. You’re the chosen one. I was told all about you, and you don’t have a sister.” He looked Dawn over. “And why does she keep fading in and out like that?”

        “What? She doesn’t fade.”

        “And Buffy’s always had a sister,” Angel said. “I remember having to be really quiet in case I woke her before Buffy and I got married. And she kept catching me anyway.”

        “Except for the time you caught me,” Dawn pointed out. She’d never really forgiven Angel for the time he kidnapped her and tortured her for an hour, breaking her arm. Sure, Buffy’d rescued her, and she’d recovered. And sure, Spike had distracted Angel from his wheelchair and reminded him that Dawn was more valuable alive, which was another reason Dawn had always preferred Spike to Angel. Angel soulless had scared the crap out of her, and Spike soulless had sort of saved her life (albeit to keep her as hostage material, but still) so it was hard to like Angel even with the soul.

        “And I am telling you,” Doyle said. “This is not Buffy’s sister. Buffy never had a sister. This girl isn’t real.”

 


	23. What Do You Know

        “Here you go, Joyce. A nice cuppa.”

        “Thank you, Spike,” Joyce said from her position on the couch.

        Spike handed Joyce a mug of mint tea with honey, not too hot to drink. “You get that in you. Should be soothing.” He sat down on the coffee table and tried to keep himself from taking her hand. He found the whole circumstance of Joyce’s illness a little too close to home for comfort. “So what exactly did the doctors say? A shadow?”

        “Just a shadow. It might be nothing,” Joyce said. “Or it might be something serious. They’re really not sure at this point.”

        “If it’s nothing, what about your headaches?”

        “They could be just stress,” Joyce said. “There’s no way to know.”

        “If you’ve never gotten stress headaches before, why now?” Spike asked.

        “Well, I have. Just not so many, so often….” Joyce shook her head. “I’m not sure. But don’t worry the girls, will you? I’d rather tell them myself.”

        “You have my word,” Spike said evenly. A car pulled up outside. His heart felt for a second like it could beat again, a little clench in his chest. “Buffy’s back. I should go.”

        “You don’t have to run off,” Joyce said. “This is my house now. She has her own.”

        Spike couldn’t suppress a smile. Help a slayer, save one little bit’s life, and this woman so easily forgave a lifetime of slaughter. Forget Buffy’s forgiveness of Angel. Joyce’s easy acceptance of Spike was enough to warm the cockles of anyone’s heart. At least he felt so, since his cold cockles were always deeply warmed.

        Another car pulled up outside, its tires squealing as it braked hard. They heard raised voices outside. “You can’t just walk away from this, Buffy!”

        “And I told you, there’s nothing more to discuss!” Buffy shouted. Joyce shifted on the couch and they both looked out the window. Buffy had pulled up behind Joyce’s car in Angel’s convertible, but Angel seemed to have followed in another car. “Go on back to Doyle and scheme without me!”

        “I’m not scheming with Doyle,” Angel said. “I’m just saying, we need to find out more about what’s happening.”

        “Dawn, get in the house,” Buffy said, pushing Dawn behind her.

        Dawn opened the front door, and Joyce stood up to go to her, headache aside. Dawn seemed subdued, her eyes wide, as if she’d had a shock. Spike slipped in and lurked in the living room archway, out of sight of Angel. But he had a good view of Buffy’s narrow waist as she shouted down at her husband from the porch. Spike wished he had popcorn.

        “I didn’t tell you to follow me,” Buffy snapped at Angel.

        “Buffy, you can’t ignore what we know, and what we don’t know,” Angel said from the walkway. “We don’t know what that is!”

        “We know she’s my sister!” Buffy said.

        Spike raised an eyebrow at Dawn.  _This about you?_  Dawn shook her head, looking a little bewildered. She seemed very small.

        “I don’t care what Doyle says,” Buffy went on. “Or what Willow’s little trance says, or even what Oz’s nose says, okay? Dawn is my sister, full stop, no ands or buts. I don’t want to hear any more!”

        “But she’s  _not_  your sister!” Angel yelled.

        “And you can keep your voice down!” Buffy yelled back.

        “You’re not being reasonable!”

        “I’m doing my job!” Buffy yelled. “Protector of humanity. She’s human. I’m protecting her.”

        “But we don’t know if she  _is_  human, Buffy! That’s the whole point!”

        “What is going on out here?” Joyce said, pushing onto the porch.

        “You should go lie down, Mom,” Buffy said, taking Joyce by the shoulder and turning her around. “Angel was just leaving.”

        “The hell I am,” Angel said, following them up the steps to the porch. “I’m not leaving you alone with that thing. There’s no telling what she’ll do—What?”

        Spike burst into laughter. The look on Angel’s face when he’d tried to barge in past Buffy after Dawn and found himself disinvited.

        “What the…?”

        “Go away,” Buffy said through the open door. “I can’t talk to you now.”

        “Get away from me,” Dawn said. She sounded scared.

        Buffy put her arm around Dawn’s shoulders. “You heard her. Go on, Angel.”

        “When did you do this?” Angel said, pushing against the invisible force keeping him from Buffy’s house. “How did you do this? You didn’t have time.”

        Buffy only glared.

        “Disinvite happened months ago, Angelface,” Spike called from the hallway. “Which you’d know if you ever bothered to talk to your mum-in-law.”

        “What the hell are you doing here?” Angel glared at Spike.

        “Was just making Joyce a cup o’ tea,” Spike said.

        “But how did you get in?” Angel insisted.

        “Spike is my guest, Angel,” Joyce said. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but… Buffy doesn’t seem to want to invite you in.” She looked to Buffy. “Do you, Buffy?”

        “Not right now, I don’t.”

        “Well, there we are,” Joyce said.

        “No, we’re not!” Angel said. “Joyce, you don’t understand, Dawn isn’t your daughter. You have to get it out of this house, you can’t—”

        “Dawn is most assuredly my daughter, Angel,” Joyce said. “And whatever else is going on, I think it’s Buffy’s decision to make, not yours.”

        “And I think that means you’re done here,” Spike said with an evil smirk. He put his hand on the door. “Bye-bye!” He took great pleasure in closing the door in Angel’s face.

        Spike turned back to the Summers girls. Dawn was in tears, Buffy was stone faced, Joyce looked worried. “What’s going on, little bit?” Spike asked Dawn. “What’s got Angel’s knickers in a twist?”

        “I’m not a real person,” Dawn said, sniffling. “I’m not real!”

        “You are real,” Buffy said. “I don’t care what Doyle says, you’re real.” The phone rang. Joyce picked it up while Buffy continued to soothe Dawn.    

        “Buffy?” Joyce said. “It’s Angel.”

        “Ugh,  _now_  he figures out how his cell phone works?” Buffy said with irritation. She snatched the phone out of her mother’s hand. “Go away!”

        “Buffy, you have to be reasonable,” Spike heard, but Joyce led Dawn into the living room, and signaled Spike with her eyes to join them, so he followed.

        “What’s going on?” Joyce asked. “Doyle is Angel’s friend, isn’t he? What’s he saying about you?”

        “He can’t… can’t see me. I’m blurry to him. And he can’t remember me. They called in Willow and Tara and everyone, and they did a spell, and… I fade in and out. Like I was made of magic. And Buffy’s family photo. In her living room. With the spell there’s no picture of me, it’s only you and Buffy. And Oz says I do smell of magic, though he always ignored it, because he doesn’t like using his wolf stuff. And Giles called the council, and they said they’d get back to him. And Angel and Doyle want to take me away, and Angel threatened to lock me up, and Buffy—”

        “I don’t want to hear it!” Buffy yelled into the phone in the other room..

        “Buffy got really mad,” Dawn said, her voice small. “What am I, if I’m not real? Mom?”

        “You  _are_  real, sweetie. You’re my little pumpkin belly, and you always will be.”

        “But Doyle says he knows I didn’t exist until, like, a few months ago.”

        Joyce looked at Spike over Dawn’s head. Spike shrugged. He remembered the little bit.

        “Don’t call here again!” Buffy shouted from the other room. “And get off my lawn!” She came stalking into the living room. “Dawn, don’t listen to a word they said. You’re my sister, you hear me?”

        Dawn cringed. Buffy did sound awfully irate.

        “Come on, Buffy, let’s make some more tea,” Spike said.

        “I’m not—”

        “Joyce’s head hurts,” Spike said firmly. “Calming tea, yeah?”

        Buffy’s fist was clenched. She swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

        Spike followed her into the kitchen, where Buffy slammed the kettle onto the stove, and turned the temperature up to full. Spike calmly picked up the kettle and filled it with water before returning it to the stove. Buffy merely looked irritated. “How long have  _you_  known Dawn?” she asked.

        Spike shrugged. “Almost as long as I’ve known you. Parents Night. She was there, right?”

        “Yeah. And you held her hostage.”

        “Yeah. Till she stomped on my foot and ran after your mum.”

        “And you remember her through all of everything, right? Always there, always hanging around?”

        “Most everything, yeah.”

        “And Angel kidnapped her once, right? When he didn’t have a soul? And you said she was better as a hostage than a message, and that kept her alive until I could save her?”

        “Well….” Spike shrugged. As fond as he was of the niblet, he hadn’t thought of himself as being noble or anything when he’d done that. He’d just thought it a waste of a good bargaining chip.

        “But why wasn’t I grateful for that?” Buffy demanded.

        “Um….”

        “You saved Dawn’s life, why didn’t I trust you more after that? Why, when the truce came, was I still unsure?”

        “I don’t know if I can answer you that, love. I’ve been wondering what it takes to get you to trust me for a while now.”

        “Well, I trust you now,” Buffy said, sitting angrily down at the counter. “Don’t let Angel get her.”

        “OK,” Spike said. Buffy looked up at his ready agreement. He was struck by the fear in her eyes. He came up closer to her. “I promise.”  

        Buffy looked back down, but he’d seen that terror. Like a trapped bird. Buffy never felt any fear for herself, but for her family….

        “What’s he want with her?” Spike asked.

        “He just wants her away from  _me._ He wants to take her away, maybe lock her up, and— ugh. I don’t know.” Her brow furrowed. “I actually don’t know what he’d do to her. That’s why I can’t let him….”

        “What do you think he’d do?”

        “I don’t know what he’d do,” Buffy said. “But I’m afraid… he wouldn’t treat her like a human being.” He’d caught the tremble in her tone as she said this.

        “Why wouldn’t he?”

        “Because he thinks she isn’t real!”

        “Isn’t she?”

        “I… I don’t know,” Buffy said. The anger melted from her face and she rubbed at her forehead. “Willow found a way to share her perception with all of us. Dawn  _does_ flicker in and out. And now that I think about it my memories are… twisted. All of ours are.”

        “Twisted like… how?”

        “Like, I remember Mom and Dad finding out about the slayer thing because Dawn found me out. I mean, Dawn was always curious, poking about, and she caught me sneaking around. And then Mom and Dad put me in a mental ward for like six weeks until I stopped talking about vampires.”

        Spike frowned. “I thought your mum didn’t know until the day of our truce?”

        “I know!” Buffy said. “Exactly! How can both things be true?”

        Spike didn’t know what to say.

        “And I remember not being afraid of Angel after he turned bad, because the only people I really had to worry about was Mom and the Scoobies, and the Scoobies knew to look after themselves. But I would have had Dawn, just twelve. Why wasn’t I worried about her, too?” She shook her head. “And the things Angel did. He  _tortured_  her. How could I forgive what had happened to her, and marry him anyway?”

        “He didn’t torture her that bad,” Spike said. “Believe me.” Buffy glared, and Spike stared at her earnestly. “Believe. Me.”

        Something softened in Buffy’s eyes, he wasn’t sure what it was. It could have been horror, but it almost looked more like sympathy. He wondered what, if anything, Angel had told her about his early years.

        Then he remembered. She’d seen what Angel could do to him when he was angry enough.

        There was a deep silence between them then, pregnant and awkward. Slowly, as if afraid he’d shatter the moment, Spike put his hand on Buffy’s. For one second, two seconds, three beautiful seconds, she let him touch her again. Then her fist slowly closed again, and she pulled her hand away, unhurriedly.

        “Look,” Spike said. “I remember the niblet. You remember her. If everyone remembers her but Doyle, I’d say the problem is him, no matter what your bloody spells say.”

        “But even with our memories so… sketched in?”

        “So? She’s got a little magic in her, what’s that matter? She’s your sister now. Doesn’t matter what you started off being, it’s what you are that matters, yeah?”

        “But why?” Buffy asked. “Why would someone just  _give_  me a sister, complete with history and emotion, for no reason?”

        “Well, there’d have to be a reason,” Spike said. “Just you might not get to be the one to find out. Why are people given? Why are they taken away? How do you go on without them? All stupid questions that never get answers.”

        Buffy stared at him, and that awkward silence hung between them again for a second. He realized this was the first time they’d actually talked since she’d gone back to Angel. All they’d been doing before this was yell at each other and snark a lot.

        “Do you love her?” he finally asked.

        “She’s my sister,” Buffy said.

        “Then what does the rest matter?”

        Buffy closed her eyes and seemed to relax a bit. Then she sniffed. “But what if that’s the wrong decision?” she asked.  “What if she’s some insidious monster come to destroy me?”

        “By playing gin rummy and borrowing your clothes? Yeah, real sinister there. As the niblet keeps eloquently saying about _me_ , if she’d wanted to kill you, she’d have done it by now. So whatever else she is, she’s not a threat.”

        “But how long has she actually been with us? How much of our memories are real?”

        Spike shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Just… there are lots easier ways to kill someone. Or even to spy on someone.” The kettle whistled, and Spike took it off the stove. “Go on back to Joyce, try and explain this to her. I’ll make the tea.”

        “Spike?” Buffy said. Spike looked up at her. “Thanks. I’m glad you were here.”

        “I haven’t done anything, yet,” Spike said.

        “You said you’d protect her,” Buffy said. “I believe you.”

        Spike swallowed and looked down. When he looked back up, she had gone.

        A second later she popped her head back into the room. “By the way, you haven’t heard anything about a massive sword-wielding army in town? No?” She bobbed her head. “‘Cause that’s kind of a problem, too.”

 


	24. Revelations

        Buffy didn’t know which way to jump.

        She’d never thought Angel would turn on her like this, ignoring her wishes, siding with Doyle, threatening to take her sister. It was as if he’d turned soulless all over again. He’d stood there, staunchly refusing to see her sister as a human being. “If she’s not real, she doesn’t have a soul, and if she has no soul, then what is she? She’s got to be evil, Buffy!” And he’d said this right in front of Dawn.

        He was stalking in front of her house. She’d told him to leave. She’d stood there and shouted at him. She’d called him on his cell phone. She’d even called Giles and tried to have him reason with him, but Angel stayed there on the lawn or in Doyle’s car, refusing to leave the house, occasionally going around it to make sure she and Dawn didn’t leave through the back door. Not that it mattered, he could probably smell them if they tried to sneak out. He was invulnerable, intractable, and he didn’t think her sister was human. Hours had passed, and he kept being there.

        Buffy had never felt more hunted in her life.

        And now Mom was admitting she was sick. A shadow in her brain. What did a shadow mean? It could mean brain cancer, it could mean a blood clot, it could mean some kind of encephalitis, couldn’t it? She didn’t know much about encephalitis except that had something to do with brain swelling. Would that cause shadows?

        “What do we do?”

        “Well, I have another doctor’s appointment in a few weeks, and they’re going to do some more tests.”

        “More tests? More tests won’t solve this. And what if your headaches get worse?” They’d gotten so bad Mom had admitted she was just about blinded by them at times.

        “There’s nothing we can do except wait on the doctors,” Joyce had said patiently. “But I thought if there’s a crisis, then it was time you girls should know. I wouldn’t want it to drop on you as a surprise when you’re in the middle of something serious.”

        “Does this mean you could die?” Dawn asked.

        “We don’t know, sweetie,” Joyce told her. “That’s the point.”

        Buffy had never felt so scared. She’d been prepared to die before her mother did. She’d been prepared for her sister to be her mother’s solace when she did. She’d been prepared for Angel to be her staunch supporter through whatever trials befell her. Now her mother might be dying, her sister might not be real, and Angel was stalking her house threateningly. And the person who seemed to have her back was Spike.

        Someone knocked on the door. “It’s Giles!” he called out.

        “Dawn, go upstairs,” Buffy said, sure Angel was out there with him.

        “But—”

        “Just go upstairs.”

        “Fine!” Dawn yelled, a sudden change from her subdued silence. Dawn wasn’t taking being told she wasn’t real at all well. She’d been going back and forth from shocked horror to rebellious raving for hours now. Buffy could see it was wearing on her mother. Hell, it was wearing on Buffy.

        She waited until Dawn’s bedroom door slammed before she opened the front door. There was Giles, with Angel looming behind him like a dark shadow.

        “Buffy, you have to see reason,” Angel began.

        Buffy closed the door after Giles crossed the threshold.

        “He won’t listen, will he?” Buffy asked.

        “No,” Giles said. He glanced behind him. Vampire hearing was pretty acute. Buffy led him into the kitchen. Spike had settled in there, leaving the Summers girls their privacy as Joyce had confessed her condition, keeping half an eye on the back door in case Angel tried anything there.

        “Do we know anything new?” Buffy asked.

        “A bit,” Giles said. “The Council received word some months ago from an order called the Monks of Dagon. There weren’t many of them left. Apparently most of them had been murdered by a creature….” Giles shook his head. “I don’t know. They were going to send something to the slayer, to hide it. They won’t tell me the details, because they claim I am not a watcher any longer. They’re sending a team to test you, to see if you are indeed the slayer they need you to be. I explained to them we didn’t have time for that, but—”

        “Damn skippy, we don’t have time for that!” Buffy said. “Dawn is in danger  _now_. Whatever’s going on with her, if she’s been constructed, or if someone cast a spell on her to make her seem unreal to us, that’s going on  _now_. And you’re telling me the Council knows something about it, but they won’t tell me?”

        “Precisely,” Giles said.

        “Ugh!”

        “You can’t trust the Watcher’s Council for beans,” Spike put in quietly. “They never helped any slayer against me.”

        Buffy sighed. “What do they know that they aren’t telling us?”

        “Something serious, or they wouldn’t be sending a team,” Giles said.

        “And this happened months ago? They’ve known something was going down for  _months_?”

        “Apparently they’ve been waiting for my call,” Giles said. “They were told to await the arrival of some kind of artifact, but that’s all they’re willing to tell me.”

        “You’re telling me Dawn is some kind of artifact?”

        “And something is after it. After her. An interdimensional army called the Knights of Byzantium — that’s probably who attacked you, Buffy, — and something the Knights call The Beast, which the Council won’t tell me more about. That’s all I could understand, reading between the lines.”

        Buffy sat down and made him go over it again, demanding that Giles tell her exactly everything the Council had said. It wasn’t satisfactory, and it didn’t help matters any. Then suddenly they were interrupted by a loud, dreadful beeping. Spike looked up. “What the…?”

        “Smoke alarm,” Buffy said. She ran up the stairs. Smoke curled in the hallway upstairs, creeping out from around the cracks of Dawn’s door. As the alarm sounded, Dawn screamed.

        Buffy burst Dawn’s door open into a cloud of smoke that plumed around her.  The first thing she saw was fire, flickering brightly in a trash can. Buffy could see dog-eared notebooks inside it; Dawn’s journals, which she’d been keeping ever since she could really write. But where was…?

        Dawn herself was half out the window, struggling and screaming. Angel stood on the porch roof, his hand around her ankle, dragging her away.

        “Dawn!” Buffy dove forward and pulled Dawn towards her, trying to shove Angel away. The angle was awkward, and Angel wouldn’t let go.

        “Buffy, it’s not what you think—” he began.

        “I don’t care what it is!” Buffy shouted.

        “I just want to make sure it’s safe!”

        “ _You’re_  not safe!” Buffy yelled. “Leave my sister  _alone!”_  She reached through the window and shoved hard. Angel fell backwards off the roof and landed with a thump.

        Buffy dragged Dawn back inside, and looked her over for injury. There were gouges on Dawn’s arms, blood drying in trickles on her skin. “What did he do to you?”

        “I… he….” Dawn’s eyes glanced to her vanity, then looked away.

        “How did he…?” Her eyes followed Dawn’s. One of Buffy’s slayer’s knives was on the dresser, blood still tingeing the blade. Dawn had made the cuts herself.

        Buffy knew she should feel sympathy for Dawn’s personal crisis, but she was seized with impatience. “Oh, for god’s sake, Dawn! What is  _wrong_  with you!” She shook the girl. “Now we can’t even leave you alone!”

        “What does it matter?” Dawn shouted. “I just wanted to see if I could bleed.”

        “What?  _Why?_ ”

        “Because if I’m not real, I shouldn’t have blood. It shouldn’t matter if I cut myself, it shouldn’t matter… because I’m not even real.”

        “Oh, the hell you aren’t!” Buffy shouted back.

        “Buffy—”

        “Oh, shut up!” Buffy yelled at Spike and Giles, who stood in the doorway. She turned back to Dawn. “What were you doing opening the window, anyway? Were you trying to run away?”

        The stubborn look passed over Dawn’s face, and Buffy knew that was precisely what she had tried to do. “There was smoke,” Dawn said quietly, but Buffy didn’t believe it.

        “Gah!” She let her sister go roughly.

        Joyce slowly came up to the door. “Can someone turn off that alarm?” she begged.

        Spike dashed out into the hall and a second later the smoke alarm cut off.

        Joyce’s face was pained. “Buffy, what is wrong? Dawn?”

        “Dawn nearly burned the house down, and she’s acting like a psych patient!” Buffy yelled.

        Giles busied himself putting out the fire.

        “Buffy, you shouldn’t shout at her,” Joyce said. “You… you need to….” She stopped, panting. “I think I need to….” And suddenly her knees gave way.

        “Mom!” Buffy abandoned Dawn and came up to her mother, trying to get her to sit up. Giles was right there beside her, taking Joyce’s hands, calling out her name. Spike stepped over them and threw a handful of clothes on the fire, smothering it with his boot. The smoke slowly drained out of the open window.

        “Mom? Mom, come on, Mom, are you okay?”

        Joyce made some soft noises, but she didn’t seem able to properly focus on any of them.   

        “Buffy, I think you should call the ambulance,” Giles said.

        “Ambulance?” Buffy gasped. “Oh, right! Ambulance!” She tripped as she went out the door, stumbling down the stairs. Her hands were shaking as she dialed 911. “Come on, come on, yes! Hello, yeah, my mom just collapsed, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

        The operator told her to stay on the line after she got the information. “I can’t,” Buffy said. “My sister’s bleeding.” She put the receiver down next to the phone, and ran back upstairs, only to find Spike already in the bathroom with Dawn, putting bandages on her cuts.

        “Stay with your mum,” he said to her.

        Buffy ran back to her room to find Giles still rubbing Joyce’s hands, trying to pull her attention. “Stay with us, Joyce, it’ll be all right.”

        “Mom,” Buffy said, kneeling down. “I’m here. The ambulance will be here soon, just hang on.”

        “I… I’m all… unh….” Joyce’s head sagged.

        “Mom!” Buffy called out.

        “Is she okay?” Dawn asked, coming out of the bathroom.

        “I don’t know,” Buffy said. “They’ll come take her to the hospital soon, I think.”

        “Come on, Joyce, up you come,” Giles said, and managed to get Joyce to her feet.

        “Who are you?” Joyce asked, looking at Dawn. Her voice was slurred. “I don’t…” She lost her footing again and fell down in the hall. Giles and Spike caught her and sat her back down on the floor.

        “I want to stay with her,” Dawn said, as she hovered over them.

        And Buffy realized, Dawn couldn’t go with her mother. And Buffy couldn’t, either. Angel wouldn’t stop stalking them. Dawn couldn’t leave the house, and Buffy couldn’t leave Dawn alone, not with Angel outside, a sword-wielding army on the loose, and some kind of creature hunting her.

        “I’ll go with Joyce, love,” Spike said.

        “You can’t go outside, either,” Buffy told him. “We know what Angel would do to you.”

        “I can handle him.”

        “You want to bet your life on that?” Buffy asked. “I don’t think Angel would hurt anyone with a soul, but you? He’d kill you if it meant getting to Dawn.”

        There was dark silence. None of them doubted it for an instant.

        “I’ll go with Joyce, Buffy,” Giles said quietly. “I’ll say I’m her husband, they’ll let me stay with her until they find out otherwise.”

        “Are you sure?”

        “I’m not doing you any good here,” Giles said. “Not until the Council arrives.”

        Buffy didn’t like it, but she didn’t see alternatives. She was developing her own headache.

        And Dawn wasn’t helping. “But I want to go with Mom!” she announced.

        “You can’t!” Buffy shouted. “Do you hear me? Angel’s after you! You  _can’t!_ ” He didn’t think she had a soul. Buffy had seen what Angel was willing to do to someone who didn’t have a soul.

        Why the  _hell_ had she given him back that ring?

        Dawn went back into her room and slammed the door. Buffy tried to open it, but she’d locked it. “Dawn. Dawn!” She didn’t have time for this. “Do you think she’s going to start any more fires?” she asked Spike.

        “Dunno. She may be a construct, but she’s also a teenage hormone bomb. Whichever is going on in her head now….” He shrugged.

        Buffy was tempted to knock down the door, but a siren outside told her the EMTs had arrived. There was no energy to spare for Dawn’s tantrum.

        She went to let the EMTs in, and they checked Joyce out, making cryptic comments, asking questions, their presence large in the house. Giles said he was going with her, and Buffy made sure to say, “Right, Dad.” They carried Joyce out on a stretcher. Angel hovered on the porch, but had the decency not to repeat his entreaties to turn Dawn over to him. Buffy stood in the doorway, watching the ambulance drive off. Then her view was obscured by Angel suddenly coming back into her line of vision. “Buffy,” he began.

        “Ugh.” She slammed the door.

        The house seemed very quiet now. After a moment even the sound of the siren wailed away into the night, carrying her mother to the hospital. She was alone now. She stood there in the hallway, her hands shaking. She knew she should go up and make sure Dawn was okay. She knew she should be strong and efficient and know what to do next. Instead she held her hand to her forehead, the world crashing down around her. Angel had turned on her. Her sister was going crazy. Her mother could be dying. Giles couldn’t help. And now all she could do was wait, wait, wait, and she was terrible at waiting. She wished she could fight, could scream, could battle her way out of this terrible night, but there was nothing for it but to just endure it, let it wash over her, wait for the next terrible thing to happen.

        She was crying.

        Well, there it was. The next terrible thing.

        And then the terrible thing was interrupted. The next thing she knew a hand had touched her shoulder. A cool, very gentle hand, and Spike’s English toffee accent whispered to her. “I’m so sorry, love.”

        Something small and thin that had been under immense tension broke inside her, like a kite string. All the sane, sensible, down to earth things that Buffy had been clinging to were softly, silently gone. The earth fell away beneath her, and she was lost in the sky. She knew she should shrug Spike off, walk away from him, shout at him to leave her alone, but all that required the earth at her feet, and that she no longer had. All she did was stand there, crying.

        Spike grew bolder. His hand on her shoulder gently turned her, caught her. He rubbed her arms, touched the tears away on her cheek with his thumb, pulled her gently against his chest, and Buffy found herself sobbing in sheer relief that he was there with her. She was lost, her string was cut, but he had caught her in his arms. Whatever else was going on tonight, whatever she was about to lose, Angel or Dawn or her mother, she wasn’t facing the infinite sky alone.

        “It’s all right, love, I’ve got you,” Spike whispered, just like he had the first time he’d held her crying. “I’ve got you, I’m here. It’s all right.”

        It wasn’t all right, but that didn’t matter. The sound of his voice was comforting, his body was cool and supple against her hot face, his arms were strong and secure around her. He had caught her.

        After a moment Spike led them backwards and sat on the stairs, pulling Buffy against him, almost into his lap. He leaned against the wall and cradled her like a child. The position should have been awkward, but was surprisingly comfortable, curled up in Spike’s arms. He rocked and rocked her, his fingers twined gently into her hair, his lips on her hairline, her head against his chest, his arm strong around her.

        “I’m sorry,” she found herself whispering.

        “You’ve not done a thing wrong, love.”

        “I let everything happen,” Buffy said. “Mom’s sick, Dawn’s in danger, there’s been an invasion.”

        “None of that was your fault.”

        “But I’m the slayer. I’m supposed to fix everything.”

        “You’re allowed to be human, baby,” Spike said. “If you weren’t, you couldn’t even be the slayer.”

        It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. Everyone always tried to make her either human, or the slayer, chopping her up inside as if she was made of two different metals. And perhaps she was, but it was an alloy of human and slayer powers, not bolted together in two halves, but melded. Complete. If she hadn’t been human, she wouldn’t be the slayer. She had to be both, complete and entire. And she was allowed both to succeed, and to fail sometimes. Spike understood that about her, the way he understood how she felt about Angel, the way he understood what was important about Dawn, the way he understood… everything.

        And the thought entered her head unbidden, whole and entire, shocking her with the realization.  _I love you._

        His strength and his gentleness, his passion and his thoughtfulness, his scorn and his sympathy, the man she could see inside the vampire, the vampire who had chosen to respect his love for her even after she’d rejected him. She loved him.

        She tried the words on for a few moments.  _I love you, I love you, I love you. It’s insane. I love you._

        But she didn’t say it.

        For a long moment they stayed curled together on the stairs, until Buffy’s tears dried. She slowly counted breaths. In, out. One. In, out. One more. She never got as far as two, holding each breath as a tiny gift, one more moment before she had to face the next crisis. She was almost tempted to go to sleep there in his arms. She felt so tired, and evil or not, soulless or not, he was such a comforting presence. He smelled good and he felt good and he knew how to be there for her. In, out. One more.

        A knock sounded on the door.

        Spike tensed, and Buffy’s eyes closed. It wasn’t the first time Angel had knocked on the door tonight.

        The knock sounded again. And again. “Sod off!” Spike shouted. Buffy could hear his voice rumbling in his chest, with a vampiric growl beneath it.

        “Buffy, I need to talk to you.” Angel’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door. “I have an idea.”

        “Ugh. Go  _away_ , Angel!” Buffy yelled back.

        “I think I know how we can find out about Dawn,” Angel said. “You can come with, okay? No chains, no bars. Just information. It doesn’t have to be like this.” For a long moment he said nothing more. Then, “I’m sorry,” he said through the door.

        Buffy sighed and stood up reluctantly from Spike’s lap. She opened the door to find Angel there with Doyle behind him. Doyle looked tired. Angel had stolen his car, had he walked all the way there? Maybe he’d gotten a cab.

        “Doyle has an idea,” Angel said. He had that puppy-dog look of his on his face as he begged. “Please, I’m sorry, Buffy. I didn’t mean to…. I just wanted to protect you.”

        “What’s your idea?” she asked.

        “Angel went and consulted the oracles of the Powers That Be when he wanted to know about his curse,” Doyle said. “I was thinking, if the whole problem with your Dawn is that we don’t know what’s happening, they would.”

        “So we drive to LA, and ask some weird oracle?”

        “It worked for me,” Angel said. “Maybe it could work for this, too.”

        “I can’t trust you. Not after you tried to take Dawn.”

        “That was a mistake. You have to believe me, I just want what’s best for all of us. Even Dawn.”

        Buffy considered him. “Just information? We go to the oracles, ask simple questions, and  _they_  tell us what’s going on?” she asked. “No chaining Dawn down and torturing the information out of her?”

        “I never said I was going to do that.”

        “What  _was_  your idea with the chains, then?” Buffy countered. Angel looked lost. There had been no plan, Buffy knew that now. Angel liked to pretend he had everything in hand, but most of the time he saw something in front of him, and then reacted. And usually he reacted harshly, and without all the information. She sighed. She supposed it really was information they needed. Information even Dawn herself apparently didn’t know. “She comes with me and Spike. You take Doyle’s car. We’ll follow in yours. We’ll come out when the car door’s closed, and not before.”

        “Okay,” Angel said. He reached out against the wall of the disinvite. “Buffy, please let me hold you. Just for a moment.”

        Buffy stared at him. All it would take was one step out the door. He was her husband. No matter how she felt about Spike, she did love Angel. He was admitting he had made a mistake. He loved her, she knew that, too. She knew he’d never want to hurt her.

        Unless he somehow lost his soul.

        She closed the door gently.

 


	25. Gateway for Lost Souls

        They followed Doyle down beneath a post office in LA, where apparently the oracles awaited in a mystical twist of reality.

        “The post office?” Buffy asked. She glowered at the marble archway. There were words in some foreign language inscribed above it. “What does that say?”

        “Gateway for Lost Souls,” Spike said.

        Buffy was surprised it was Spike who had answered. “You speak… whatever that is?”

        “I’m not an idiot,” Spike said.

        “But since you are less than soulful,” Angel said, “I think that means you’re not invited.”

        “Well, a bloke can always try,” Spike said.

        “Spike’s staying with us,” Buffy said, glaring at Angel. She still hadn’t let him come close to Dawn.

        “Well, I don’t know about souls,” Doyle said. “But I do know that only warriors and champions can be admitted to the oracles.”

        “The hell with that,” Spike said. “Where the bit goes, I go.” Buffy had insisted on keeping her and Spike between Angel and Dawn. He was even more diligent about hanging onto her than Buffy was. He hadn’t let go of her arm since they’d gotten out of the car.

        “We’re all warriors,” Buffy said. “Hell, I’ll bet even you’re a warrior,” she said to Doyle.

        “Just a lowly messenger, they won’t accept me.”

        “You’ve been dealing with demons and monsters, don’t tell me you’ve never fought,” Buffy said.

        “Not by choice, exactly. Look, I don’t want to see them, all right? They creep me the hell out.” He tossed some herbs into a brazier in the center of the room. “People don’t always survive.”

        “You didn’t tell me that,” Buffy snapped at Angel.

        “I… didn’t know,” Angel said. “I don’t know much about them, only what Doyle’s told me. They seemed perfectly good to me.”

        “They are good,” Doyle said. “But they aren’t  _safe_. There’s a reason you have to have to be pure of intent to question them. They’re capricious and unpredictable. You don’t need me, I’m staying here.”

        “I don’t want to go, either,” Dawn said. “Can’t I stay here with Doyle?”

        “No,” Spike, Buffy, and Angel all said at once.

        “All right,” Doyle said. “Here goes.  _We beseech access to the knowing ones_.” He lit the herbs. They flared in the brazier, and a bright light shone out of the marble archway. “You’re in, go, go!” He pushed on Angel’s back.

        Angel jumped through first. Buffy took hold of Dawn’s hand tightly and jumped through the narrow doorway, pulling her sister with her. A second later she was attacked from behind, or she thought she was, as Spike jumped through afterwards and collided with her. She whirled, ready to strike, and then rolled her eyes when she saw it was only Spike.

        “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t see where I was going.”

        “Looks like you could get in.”

        “Figures,” Spike said. “My soul’s more lost than Angel’s is.”

        “But are you pure of intent?” Buffy asked him.

        Spike shrugged. “Not my question, is it?”

        The light was strange, flickering from blue to yellow. Buffy looked at the ceiling and saw it flickering like a fire. She wondered if they were actually beneath the brazier that Doyle had lit. If so, she hoped the fire would last long enough for them to get out again.

        Two figures stood on either side of what seemed to be an infinite archway of white marble, backlit by a white light. “You again,” the female figure said, addressing Angel.

        “I thought we had dismissed you,” the male added.

        “And you bring more lower beings,” said the female.

        “Not all,” said the male. “Look twice at the small one.”

        “Ah,” said the female. “Yes.”

        They were golden skinned with bright blue Dune-movie eyes, and blue patterns etched into their skin. They were dressed in togas in a way that Buffy found a total fashion nightmare, though they stood like dancers. “Nice place,” she said, glancing around at the massive marble bricks. “Looks like a bank.”

        The female oracle’s blue eyes narrowed at Buffy. “You take refuge in quips and contempt,” she said. “Are they the only armor you wear to protect your strength, warrior? Or do you guard yourself other ways?” Buffy swallowed. What were they driving at?

        The oracle continued. “What offering have you brought to us?”

        “Offering?”

        “Oh, damn,” Angel said. “I forgot the offering. Um…” he looked down at his body. “Here. Another watch.” He held out his golden Rolex.

        “I’ve had enough of your time,” the female oracle said.

        “It worked last time,” Angel said.

        “You offer your time once, you cannot offer it again,” she said. “And it is not  _your_ answer sought tonight. You,” she said turning again to Buffy. “It will be your question. What do you offer?”

        Buffy glanced down at herself. She thought for a second about offering her stylish yet affordable boots, but she knew instinctively they wouldn’t be enough. Not if Angel’s gold watch wasn’t fit for them. She had only one thing.

        She took the ring off her finger and offered it to the oracle.

        “Buffy—”

        “You forgot we needed an offering,” Buffy nearly shouted at Angel. She held out the diamond claddagh ring. “Here.”

        “Love,” said the oracle. “You offer your love?”

        “It is not our purview,” said the male oracle.

        “But it does have its shine,” said the female oracle.

        “I don’t offer love,” Buffy said. “Just… the ring.”

        The woman smiled. “Shine enough for what it represents. The two of you.” The ring disappeared inside her hand, and she walked around them, surveying them, as the male walked the other direction. When she next opened her hand, Buffy noticed the ring was gone. “What question do you ask of us?”

        “My sister,” Buffy said, pulling Dawn closer to her. “What is she? What’s going to happen to her?”

        “I thought this might be it,” said the male. “You bring the Key before us, and ask what is its function?”

        “The Key?” Dawn asked.

        “What’s a key?” Buffy asked. “I mean, I know what a key is, but how is Dawn a Key?”

        “A Key to a locked door,” said the male.

        “To all the doors,” added the female.

        “To the walls between the worlds.”

        “The Key was formed into a human and given to the Slayer to protect it,” the female said.

        “The auguries tell us,” the male said. “The Monks of Dagon meant to hide the Key from Glorificus, by sending it to a new dimension.”

        “But the Key would not go,” said the female.

        “It chose to remain on Earth,” said the male.

        “Who’s Glorificus?” Buffy asked.

        “A hell god,” the male said.

        “A creature of darkness.”

        “It wants to use the Key to open the worlds. To open its own world into this one.”

        “Okay,” Spike said, pushing his way forward. “Excuse me for butting in, but what exactly would that do to this world?”

        “Replace it with the world of Glorificus,” said the male oracle.

        “So I take it that means no more Saturday night dance parties,” Spike said. “You’re telling me the little bit here could destroy every album the Sex Pistols ever made, and polish off the rest of the world for dessert?”

        The female cocked her head at Spike. “You wear the same armor as the Slayer,” she said. “Quips and contempt. What care you for the world?”

        “I happen to live there,” Spike said.

        “You bear no soul. You should delight in the destruction.” The male oracle lowered his head, looking hard into Spike’s eyes. “Why are you here?”

        Spike swallowed visibly. “Taken a shine to the niblet here,” he said. “Don’t fancy her Hoovering up my hunting ground, but I happen to care about what happens to her.”

        “You lie exquisitely,” said the female. “You lace it with truth, without telling the whole.”

        “I’m not lying,” Spike growled.

        “He does care for the Key,” the male said.

        “But there is more,” the female said. She turned to Angel. “You,” she said. “You do not care for the Key.”

        “I care about Buffy,” Angel said. “I care that someone has inserted something into her life, I care that Buffy may be hurt. Isn’t that more important than some monks or some Key?”

        “I only care that Dawn’s in danger,” Buffy said. “There’s knights after her, there’s apparently a hell god after her. Maybe she  _can_  destroy the world, she doesn’t want to. Do you want to?” She made a quick double check.

        “What? No!” Dawn said, looking panicked.

        “See? So what do I do? How can we help her to  _not_  destroy the world? What do I have to do protect her?”

        “You are the slayer,” the male oracle said. “You need only perform your duties as you have been.”

        “But will that work?”

        “Yes,” said the female oracle. “The slayer’s sacrifice will protect and serve the Key.”

        “No!” Spike shouted.

        “You can’t ask Buffy to sacrifice herself,” Angel said.

        “We ask nothing,” said the male. “The slayer’s nature is to sacrifice. She is mortal.”

        “She’s not just mortal,” Spike said. “She’s worth more than that.”

        “It is her nature,” the female oracle said evenly.

        “Bollocks,” Spike said. “You just want blood. If you need a sacrifice to save Dawn, take another.”

        “Whom would you suggest?” the male oracle said, looking around the room inquiringly. There were only three options available, and it was clear Spike was not going to get a chance to go out and hunt down a victim.

        There was a beat, and to Buffy’s surprise, Spike stepped into the silence. “Take me,” he said. He seemed more resigned than noble about it.

        “Or me,” Angel said. Too quickly after Spike, she noticed.

        “It’s not our sacrifice,” the female said. “We are not vampires as you are, starving for blood. We tell only the truth of what is to come. And the truth is that the slayer’s protection will safeguard the Key, at the expense of her own mortal life.”

        “Then I’ll protect her,” Spike said. “I’ll take Dawn away, save her from whatever’s hunting her down. Buffy can stay safe with her mum.”

        There was another beat. “That is not what the auguries say,” said the female.

        “I don’t give a damn about your auguries!”

        “You would not be able fill the role of the slayer,” the male oracle said harshly. “If you should try the Key will be discovered, and the world will be absorbed by the darkness of hell.”

        “Look, there’s got to be another choice,” Buffy said. “Something that doesn’t mean burning or death or killing anyone. Or opening up this world into a hellscape, ‘cause Spike’s right, that sounds like it would put a crimp on my Saturday nights.”

        There was another long pause, as the oracles seemed to be listening to something the rest of them weren’t privy to. Then the male looked up. “The Key would have to choose its own fate.”

        “Just as it did before,” added the female.

        “Then all might be well.”

        “I can choose?” Dawn asked.

        Both the oracles fixed their eyes on her, and she cringed. They nodded. “You can choose,” they said in unison.

        Dawn gulped, looking a little scared. “So… what are my options?”

        “You could choose what the monks had decided for you,” said the male oracle. “To go to another dimension, beyond the reach of Glorificus or the Knights of Byzantium, beyond the reach of death or pain or life itself. There you would be the essence of what you are. All things and all places, all time and all space.”

        “That… sounds scary,” Dawn said.

        “That is what you believed before,” said the female. “When the monks first presented you with the other realms, you fled from your reality, and insisted on remaining here. That is why you chose mortality and life, though it diminished your power. That was why they had to give you to the slayer.”

        “So… what’s my other choice?”

        “To diminish your power further,” said the female. “Disperse it into another object, split your soul from your power, send the fulcrum of your strength outward of yourself. Then the Key may be destroyed without your own destruction.”

        “What happens if I do that?”

        “If the fulcrum of the Key is destroyed, the Knights will learn of it from their own clerics. They will return to their own dimension. The god Glorificus will sleep again for a thousand years, or until the end of the world. Whichever comes first.”

        “Then I choose that,” Dawn said. “I don’t want to be the Key. I just want to be a girl.”

        “You cannot choose that path,” said the male.

        “Why not?” Buffy asked. “You just said she could choose it.”

        “We have no vessel strong enough to contain your power,” said the female. “It would take an object with the capacity to maintain the magic of eternity. In all the offerings presented to us, we have never been gifted with something of that magnitude.”

        “I know where this is going,” Spike said ruefully, rolling his eyes.

        “What about this?” Angel said quietly, removing the Gem of Amara from his finger. “Would this be powerful enough to contain the Key’s magic?”

        “You were just  _waiting_  to be able to make the ultimate sacrifice, weren’t you, you souled up ponce?”

        “Spike,” Buffy said.

        “Let me remind you,” Spike said, with childlike indignation, “that if yours truly hadn’t handed that ring over when you asked it of me, he wouldn’t have it to play the hero with now. Just saying.”

        Buffy ignored Spike. She looked at the oracles. “Would it work? Could you put Dawn’s Key powers into the Gem of Amara? Would that make her safe?”

        “It would,” said the male oracle. “But we cannot perform that ritual.”

        “Why not?” Buffy said.

        “The Key would have to perform it herself,” said the female.

        “But I don’t know how,” Dawn said.

        “That,” said the female.

        “We can show you,” the male added.

        Dawn swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “Show me what I need to do.”

 

***

 

        Dawn stood between the oracles with the Gem of Amara between her feet. They had changed her into a simple green dress which they said wouldn’t interfere with the Key’s powers. Dawn didn’t like it much. It felt scratchy. And then they chanted a bunch, and put some stinky oil in her hair. She didn’t know what any of it was supposed to be for. Then they set her up in their glowing white corridor archway thing, and started chanting again.

        Buffy stood looking worried. It didn’t make Dawn feel any better.

        Dawn’s legs ached, and her back hurt, and she wanted to sit down, but they’d told her to stand, and things wanted to kill her, so she had to just let them do this, didn’t she? Like going to the doctor, they tell you you need to do a certain thing, and then you have to do them to get better. Getting rid of the Key stuff that made people want to kill her, that could destroy the world, that was like being sick, right? And the oracles were her doctors?

        Then both oracles shifted, standing before her, and turned to face her. Dawn gulped. Their unnatural eyes were terrifying as they stared at her without humanity. They… were not doctors. She was sure of that now.

        Without warning, the oracles both struck, and a searing pain sliced twice across her belly. It hurt. They had cut her with twin blades, — she hadn’t even seen they  _had_  blades — and blood poured from her torso. The cuts were shallow, but they burned like fire.

        “Buffy!” Dawn screamed, and kept on screaming. The pain wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t stop, it just kept getting worse! “Buffy, ah!”

        “Dawn!” Buffy scrambled to get to her, but Angel held her back. “You didn’t say anything about cutting her!” she yelled.

        “Her blood is required.”

        “Buffy, don’t!” Angel cried, dragging onto Buffy’s shoulders. “You can’t interfere!”

        Spike had no one holding him back. He jumped forward, striving to reach Dawn, but he seemed to be held back by something else. A terrible moaning sound filled the room, like a fog horn with an undercurrent of white noise. It was almost deafening. Dawn screamed and screamed, too terrified to do anything else. The pain was radiating out from her torso into the rest of her body as the blood dripping between her feet began to emanate a glowing green smoke.

        “Spike!” Buffy shouted.

        Spike was straining against the force that opposed him. It seemed to be coming from the smoke. “Hold on,” he said, straining. He reached for Dawn, but he couldn’t quite make contact. “Come on!” He glared at the oracles. “Let her go! Get away from her!” he grunted, but they weren’t responding, and Dawn couldn’t stop screaming, even though she was starting to be aware of other things. Other minds, other possibilities, other realities even.

        Her body screamed and screamed, writhing as it bled, unable to get away, and Dawn considered it from outside of herself. The blood… it made sense. This was why she’d cut herself before, she’d known the power was in the blood. She’d known, instinctively, that blood was the way… the way out? The way through? She didn’t know. But the blood was working now, either the oracles were working it with her, or had prepared her to use it, because she knew the blood held power that she could… probably… do something with. She wasn’t sure what, yet.

        Buffy was still struggling against Angel, fighting him, landing blow upon blow as much as she could, trying to get to Dawn. Angel had a scratch on his face and bruises on his arm, and Dawn knew he wouldn’t let Buffy go no matter how much she protested. It was not in his nature to let Buffy go. It was in his nature to control. Even if he ever released her, it would be on his terms, not hers.

        Buffy continued to fight him. That was her nature. To fight and never give up until her last breath passed from her, to strive to protect, to beat back against unnatural odds until her own strength failed.

        Spike continued to fight against the force surrounding the Dawn body. That too was his nature, to choose his fight and continue it until it was ended, no matter what it did to him in the process. Even while the green smoke burned his body, even as tendrils of energy crept up beneath his skin, making veins of green pain along his flesh, he would keep fighting until everything in his path was laid to waste. Or he was.

        Dawn could see into the future. She could see Buffy as an old woman, still fighting, still standing. She could see Angel as an older vampire, cold and confused, still tormented more by himself than by the life he chose. She could see Spike full of love, fuller of love than she thought possible, full of soul, and perhaps that would happen too. Because she could see other realities now, realities where she died, realities where Buffy died, realities where Angel died, or Spike died, or the world was destroyed. Realities where everything went beautifully. Realities where everything was ashes.

        And she could see the past. She could see places where the world split, choices and challenges met and mastered, or missed, or lost. She could focus on what mattered to her, see the world for what it could be beyond what it was.

        “Choose,” said the oracles in unison. “Choose.”

        She knew what they meant. There were two vessels beneath her, the girl and the ring, which seemed a gravity sink of power, ready to suck her in.

        “Choose.”

        Choose? Choose to leave this? To abandon this power that slept inside her blood? How could she choose that? But she couldn’t abandon her life here, either, and she could see the future. Buffy would die if Dawn chose to keep her power. And Spike would die. And the world would be in danger. She couldn’t let that happen.

        She looked across the world at all the people she loved. Buffy was here, striving to protect her, as she always would. Spike was here, fighting for and suffering for her, even knowing he would fail. Across the city, up in Sunnydale, there were her friends, Xander and Cordelia, Willow and Tara and Oz, Buffy’s friends, yes, but her own now. She had to protect them. And there, waiting in the hospital for tests to be performed, there was Giles and her mother. Dawn could see their natures. Giles, feeling helpless as he often felt, yet offering whatever he could. And her mother, very like Buffy, full of love, yet unsure where to step. And she could see the cancer inside her mother’s brain, slowly eating her life.

        Dawn distantly touched her mother softly with her power, kissing her gently on the side of her head, taking the mutated cell and regressing it back down through its history, back into the past, back and back and back until it shrank down to nothing, until Dawn kissed it away in the kitchen at the moment it began to grow wrong. It disappeared leaving nothing but a shadow of Dawn’s dark kiss. It happened just as Joyce had decided to go talk to Angel, to convince him that Buffy was too young for the choices that Angel was making for her. It slowed her, made her pause, and a window of fate closed quietly.

        And Dawn knew she had created this reality herself. Saving Joyce’s life by ending her cancer, by slowing her down at a crucial moment in her past, had forced this reality into this shape, with Angel and Buffy married, Spike in Sunnydale, Cordelia scarred, Oz and Willow and Tara, all of this was created by her own interference. And really… she was okay with it. It was no more or less desirable than the hundreds of other realities she could see stretching out around her.

        But really, there was only one reality that mattered. This one, where Buffy was fighting, Angel was struggling, Spike was pushing himself into death as he fought to reach her. Best to see this finished at once.

        She gave up her awareness of everything, abandoned her paths to the other worlds, placed one part of herself into the Gem at her feet, and sliced it off as she had cut her arm earlier that night, only harder, faster. As if she were cutting off a limb. The Dawn body screamed even louder.

        And everything disappeared with a snap.

 

***

 

        She opened her eyes on the floor, confused. There were people around her, people she knew weren’t normal. Two strange bluish-gold people with bright blue eyes stood directly over her. A smoking figure with green veins creeping up his pale skin lay on the ground beside her, trying to crawl up to reach her. A scratched-up man was struggling with a young woman, until he saw that the two blue-gold people had stepped away, and he let the woman go.

        The blonde woman came rushing up to her. “Dawn! Dawn, are you all right?” She picked her up, trying to be gentle, looking her over. “What the hell was that?” she asked the blue people. “Why was she screaming?”

        “You too would scream if you were slicing off a part of yourself,” said the blue woman. “We did not say the procedure would be painless.”

        “Who are you?” It was hard to ask. Her throat hurt, and her voice was rough. Had she been the one screaming? She didn’t remember screaming. She didn’t remember anything, how she’d gotten there, or who anyone was, not even herself. It was frightening. “Who am I?”

        The woman glared up at the blue people. “She can’t remember who she is?”

        “Her memory was all part of the magic of the Key,” said the blue man. “If she has cut it off, it too would be gone.”

        “You didn’t tell us that!” the woman yelled.

        There was a grim silence. “That wasn’t one of your questions.”

        “But _I_ remember her,” the woman said.

        “The power of the past is past. Your memories of her will stay. Her own have been cut away.”

        She didn’t like feeling left out of this conversation, which seemed to be about her. “Who are you?” she asked again.

        “I’m Buffy,” the blonde woman said. “My name is Buffy Summers. I’m your sister.”

        “My sister? Then who am I?”

        “Your name is Dawn,” Buffy said. “You’ve had a… a terrible illness. You were in real danger. It was like a cancer, it needed to be cut away so you could be safe. But we love you and we came here to… take care of it. And we did. You did. We just cured you.”

        “They didn’t tell you I’d lose my memory?” Dawn asked. She’d understood that part.

        “No. They didn’t.”

        “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, pointing at the green veined man on the floor.

        He groaned. “Nothing,” he said, rolling over. “You all right, little bit?”

        “I don’t remember anything. Who are you?”

        “That’s Spike,” Buffy told her. “He’s your friend.”

        “And him?” she asked, referring to the other man, the one Buffy had been fighting against.

        “That’s Angel,” Buffy said. She didn’t elaborate. Instead she looked up at the blue people and said, “So that’s it? Dawn’s safe now? There’s nothing coming after her, nothing trying to hurt her? The armies and the hell gods, they won’t be after her anymore?”

        “They will only search for the power of the Key. That power is gone from your sister,” said the blue woman. “Only her soul remains.”

        “She did have a soul?” Angel asked.

        “Of course she did!” Buffy snapped at him. She turned back to the blue people. “And the rest of her power? The Key stuff?”

        “It is contained within the gem,” said the blue man.

        “Good. In that case….” Buffy collected the ring from the ground and looked about the almost empty room. There were a couple of marble urns kept in alcoves on the walls. Dawn watched as Buffy went up to one, picked it up. “Everyone okay with me destroying this?” she asked, though she was mostly looking at Dawn.

        The two men nodded, and Dawn felt nothing but relief at the idea of whatever it was just being gone. “Do it,” she said.

        Buffy lifted the urn higher and brought it down sharply. The ring disappeared beneath it. When she lifted the urn to look underneath, the gem was a shattered powder inside a twisted crush of metal. Dawn saw it flicker green for a moment. Then Buffy blew on it. The powder dispersed, and the green glow faded. “Is it gone now?” Buffy asked.

        “From this world,” said the blue woman.

        “Yes,” said the blue man.

        “And Glorificus? The Knights? They’re all going back to sleep or back where they came from?”

        “Yes,” said the blue woman.

        “Fine,” Buffy said. “Then we’re done here. Angel?”

        Angel went to an archway which seemed to hold a glowing light. Dawn assumed that was the door.

        “Spike?”

        “Working on it,” Spike said. He dragged himself to his hands and knees, and seemed to decide that was enough. He tried to crawl to the wall. Dawn felt sorry for him.

        Buffy did, too. She left Dawn for a moment and went to help him stand up. “You got it?” she said once he was on two feet.

        “Yeah,” he said.

        “You’re burned.”

        “She was pretty hot,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t get to her.”

        “You tried.” She stared into his eyes for a moment before leaving him again and going back to Dawn. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time to get out of here.”


	26. Honesty

        Spike ached all over. Lines of burning green fire stung his skin, and his body underneath it felt like he’d been wrestling with a troop of circus bears. He didn’t know what had kept him from getting to Dawn, some power from Dawn’s procedure, or the oracles themselves. It hadn’t felt like a barrier, not like a private home. Just like moving through liquid concrete. Heavy and impossible.

        He wasn’t entirely sure why he had kept trying. It was instinct. Buffy was struggling to get to her, and he could have either fought with Angel, or tried to save Dawn himself, and he had been closer to Dawn. And then he couldn’t seem to stop. The chit had looked so terrified. He was very used to terrified girls, but for some reason this one….

        It had touched him in a way that worried him. Was he growing soft? Had the chip actually done things to his brain? He looked over at Buffy, with her arm around her little sister, and felt a twinge in his heart again. No. Maybe he was just a fool in love. He couldn’t bear the thought of Buffy in that much pain.

        Maybe Angel had it easier, with that soul sorting out his feelings. Being in love seemed a lot easier for Angel with the soul than it was without it.

        It was broad day when they came back up from the oracles’ sanctum. Buffy looked to the two vampires in the shadow of the post office basement, and sighed. The two cars, Angel’s and his friend Doyle’s, sat gleaming in the sunlight. Spike understood her sigh. There was Angel, scratched up and with bruises rising, and Spike with green veins of burns sliding over his skin. Both of them were vulnerable as hell.

        “Neither one of you is safe from the sun anymore,” she said.

        “Buffy’s right, we can’t drive home like this,” Angel said. “We’ll have to get a hotel until sunset.”

        Spike was game. He wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere shady and just let his body heal.

        “Fine,” Buffy said. “Doyle, do you know one within ten minutes drive? You two can hide under your coats that long, right?”

         Doyle showed them to a hotel not too far away from the post office, and they rushed inside. There were only two rooms available at that time of the morning. Buffy’s face hardened at that news, but she arranged for the rooms.

        “I’m staying with Dawn,” she said. “Can you two manage not to kill each other for twelve hours? If not, one of you gets to stay in the basement. Figure it out for yourselves.” She took her key card and bundled Dawn into the elevator.

        Spike turned suspiciously to look at Angel, only to find Angel looking suspiciously back at him. There were two keycards. Buffy had handed them each one. Spike finally shrugged and headed for the elevator. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “Do what you want.”

        “And if I want you dust and gone?”

        “Good luck facing Buffy in the evening, but go for it,” Spike said. The elevator dinged and he went inside. Angel ducked in after him.

        “Don’t think this means I trust you,” Angel said.

        “Then sleep in the bathtub,” Spike said. “I’m getting some shuteye.” He glanced at Angel. “You don’t look shiny and rosy, yourself,” he added.

        “Buffy’s pretty strong,” Angel said.

        “Why didn’t you just let her go?” Spike asked.

        Angel was silent. The elevator opened, and Spike left him there, pondering that question.

        Angel caught up with him at the door to the room. “What do you want with Buffy?” he asked.

        “What do  _you_  want with her, mate?” Spike asked. “Pretty obvious if you ask me.”

        “She’ll never love you.”

        Spike tried to pretend those words didn’t wound him like a stake to the heart. “I know it,” he said quietly.

        “Then why do you help her?”

        Spike didn’t answer that question. He went into the room, and was glad to see the light-blocking curtains mostly closed. He darted to close them the rest of the way, and sighed with relief when he was safely concealed from the sun. He flopped down spreadeagled on one of the beds with a groan. Every part of his body hurt. He could have used some blood, but he knew that wasn’t forthcoming anytime soon. He’d need more than he could get from a living victim. Time to hit the butcher again, dammit. Bloody pigs blood. But he’d have to wait until tonight.

        Angel didn’t leave him to rest in peace. “What do you want with her?” he pressed.

        “I just want to love her, you idiot. What else could I want?”

        “You don’t love her,” Angel said. “You’d need a soul to love her.”

        “Well, that’s her problem, isn’t it?” Spike asked. “I’d die for her, what else do you want?” He looked up at Angel. “And don’t think I don’t remember you scrubbing off her love in the fountain until your skin was raw. I think the one who needs the soul is you.”  

        “I have one.”

        “Exactly,” Spike said. He rolled over and stuffed a pillow under his head. “I’m knackered. Shut it, or bugger off.”

        “I don’t take orders from you,” Angel said, and he turned on the television. Spike ignored the sports chatter until he realized Angel actually had buggered off. He sat up and turned the telly off again. At that point, though, sleep eluded him.

        He knew exactly where Angel had gone.

 

***

 

        Buffy performed a quick interview of Dawn the moment she got into her room, to see how much of her memory was fried. Dawn could walk and speak, so she hadn’t forgotten  _everything_. She still had her soul, so maybe it was the things that had touched her soul that remained? Buffy wasn’t entirely sure how souls worked, even after living with Angel, for whom they were kind of a big deal.

        Dawn remembered plots from certain movies or TV shows, but couldn’t remember what they were, or when she’d seen them. She remembered the seven-times table, but couldn’t remember when or where she’d learned it. She thought she had friends, but couldn’t remember any of their names. She said she remembered Buffy, but not who she was, just that she both trusted her and thought she was a pain (which sounded right to Buffy.) And she remembered she loved her mother, though she couldn’t remember anything about her.

        “But I do have a mother, right?” Dawn asked. “We have a mother?”

        “We do,” Buffy said. Or they had. “I’m going to, uh, make a phone call.”

        She picked up the phone and tried to remember the number for the Sunnydale hospital. No dice. She called information instead, and had them look it up for her. When she called the hospital desk, at first they couldn’t find her mother. Buffy was scared until the receptionist dug a little deeper. “Oh, it seems that a Joyce Summers has already been discharged.”

        “Discharged? You mean she’s okay?”

        “Yes,” said the receptionist. “She was discharged this morning.”

        “Thank you!” Buffy said. She hung up and dialed home.

        “Buffy?” Joyce picked up the phone on the second ring. “Buffy, is that you? Is everything okay?”

        “Yeah, Mom, it’s all okay. Well, mostly okay. Are you okay?”

        “I’m fine,” Joyce said. “I’m just fine. That shadow in my head? They said it was just a discoloration. There’s nothing wrong with me at all.”

        “Then what about your headaches? What happened last night? You collapsed.”

        “Well, they kept me overnight for observation, but I feel fine now. They don’t know what happened, but they do know there’s nothing wrong with me.”

        “Nothing at all?” Buffy asked.

        “Well, maybe I had a micro-stroke or something, that’s what one doctor said. But they’re not sure. All they know is, there’s nothing bad that they can detect. They let me go home.”

        “Is Giles there with you?”

        “No, I told him to go home and sleep. He was with me all night. Buffy, what about Dawn? Where are you? Is everything okay?”

        “Yeah, it’s okay. Dawn… it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get home. Dawn’s not in danger anymore, not from Angel, not from anyone. But… she’s lost her memory.”

        “Oh, no,” Joyce said quietly.

        “Is that Mom?” Dawn asked. “Can I talk to her?”

        “Um… yeah. Are you okay with talking to her, Mom? She really can’t remember much of anything.”

        “Of course I’ll talk to my daughter!” Joyce said. “But… Buffy…? When I was… sick. Dawn seemed… different.”

        “Yeah, she was different. But she’s fine. And she’s ours now.”

        “And we love her,” Joyce finished.

        “We do.”

        Buffy handed the phone to Dawn, who spent a few minutes asking questions. What was Joyce’s name, when was Dawn born, what happened to their father. “Okay,” Dawn said after a few minutes. “Okay. Can I ask more when I get home? Okay. I love you too, Mom. Buffy, she wants to talk to you, again.”

        “You okay?” Buffy asked when she got the phone back.

        “This is going to be hard,” Joyce said. “But I think we’ll be okay. Did she have to lose her memory?”

        “She sort of… chose to lose her memory,” Buffy said. “And it wasn’t easy. I’ll explain it more in person.”

        “All right,” Joyce said.

        A knock sounded on the door. “Buffy? I need to talk to you.”

        It was Angel.

        “I gotta go, Mom. We’ll talk later.” She hung up the phone and opened the door.

        “Can I come in?” Angel asked.

        “It’s a hotel, not a home,” Buffy said. “Thought you didn’t need an invite?”

        “I’m just… trying to be polite,” Angel said.

        Buffy shrugged and stepped away from the door, gesturing him in with her arm.

        Angel looked worse. His bruises had risen spectacularly. Buffy had really clocked him one in the eye, and her scratches on his face were swollen. She would have hated to see what his shoulders, arms, and legs looked like.

        “Um… privately?” Angel said.

        Buffy glanced at Dawn, and then looked at Angel. “Is Spike in your room?” she asked him.

        “Yeah.”

        “Go and hang out with Spike,” Buffy said, gesturing Dawn out the door. “I have to talk to Angel.”

        “O-okay,” Dawn said, and went out the door. Buffy made sure she remembered the room numbers before she left.

        “What do you want?” she asked after Dawn left.

        “Hang out with Spike?” Angel asked. “You’re just sending her off with Spike, now?”

        “They’re friends,” Buffy said. “What do you want, Angel?”

        “I’m sorry, Buffy,” Angel said softly. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’m sorry.”

        “Sorry for turning against my sister, or sorry for turning against me?”

        “Just… that I’m sorry. You were right. Dawn did have a soul, and… I’m sorry.”

        “You couldn’t say that in the hallway?” she asked.

        “Buffy… that’s not fair. We need to talk about this.”

        She sighed and sat down on the bed. He was right. They had a lot of things to talk about. Things she’d been thinking, but never saying. It was time to say them now. She’d been hoping to put it off until after they got back to Sunnydale, but… she supposed getting it over with now was better. At least in the hotel room they couldn’t shout at each other too much. “What do you need to talk about, Angel?” she asked. “You want to talk about how you turned on me? You want to talk about how you tried to kidnap my sister?”

        “I just wanted to say that you were right.”

        Buffy nodded. “Okay. What if I hadn’t been right? Would that have made any difference?”

        “What do you mean? Of course things would have been different, I….”

        “No,” Buffy said. “They wouldn’t. And you would have tortured and probably murdered my sister.”

        “Only if she was evil.”

        “If she had no soul. But what if she hadn’t had a soul, and still wasn’t evil, huh? What would you have done to her, then?”

        Angel sighed, that patronizing sigh that drove her positively crazy. “Buffy,” he began.

        “You want to talk?” Buffy said. “Okay. How about we talk about betrayal? Because that’s what you did last night. You betrayed me.”

        “You’re a fine one to talk about betrayal!” Angel snapped. “Shacking up all night with Spike.”

        “Spike just happened to be there,” Buffy said. “And if you hadn’t been so gung-ho about everything, maybe I could have risked him leaving. As it was, I needed someone at my back. Someone to help me stand against  _you_.”

        “We weren’t fighting, Buffy. I was on your side all night.”

        “You were on my side by fighting against me, stalking outside my house, harassing me on my phone, driving my sister crazy, my mother into a stroke? You were really on my side all right.”

        “I didn’t do anything to Joyce, or Dawn.”

        “You call dragging her by her ankle out of a window nothing?”

        “I just wanted a better look at her! I was going to get Doyle, maybe do a few more spells. But I couldn’t do that, because you wouldn’t let me. You just wouldn’t listen to reason!”

        “Wouldn’t listen to reason.” As if it was all her fault, and the only reasonable course of action was Angel’s. “So, I’m unreasonable?” she asked. She kept her voice measured and calm. “Like I was unreasonable when I tried to run to my screaming sister, so you felt the need to hold me back?” She stared at him. “Like you always hold me back.”

        “I don’t know what you mean.”

        Buffy’s fist clenched. “You fought me, Angel, physically fought me. Look at you. Look at how hard I was trying to get away from you.”

        Angel looked down. She couldn’t see all the bruises she knew she’d inflicted on him, but she knew they were all over. “I just didn’t think you should interfere.”

        “With my own sister,” Buffy said. “It wasn’t your call.”

        “I just wanted you to stop and see reason,” Angel said softly.

        “See reason. Because I didn’t agree with  _you_ ,” Buffy said. She stood up. “And that’s where you betrayed me, Angel. You always think I should agree with you. And when I don’t, you hold me back. Because I must be wrong. It’s never that there could be more than one side to the issue. It’s never that you might not have thought it through well enough. It’s that  _I’m_ being unreasonable, and _I_ must be wrong.”

        “Buffy, that’s not fair.”

        “No, it’s perfectly fair,” Buffy said. “You can’t stand that I might have ideas of my own. You don’t believe in me. And you don’t trust me. To the point of bruises, you don’t trust me.” She shook her head. “Just like I can’t trust you.”

        “You  _can_  trust me, Buffy. We love each other.”

        Buffy sighed. It was so terribly complicated, and somehow she knew Angel would never understand. “I do love you,” she said. “I’m probably always going to love you. You’re the first man I ever loved. You’re the first man to touch me, the first to… make me feel alive. I’m never going to forget that.” Then she shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean we’re good together.”

        “Buffy….”

        “And look, we’re already free,” she said, holding up her ringless hand. “Both of us. This, this night, it ate up our marriage and every symbol of it. I think if we needed a message, this was it.”

        “That’s not fair, Buffy. I gave up that ring for you. You gave yours up for Dawn. We didn’t give ourselves or our love away. Giving those things was an  _act_  of love itself! That means more than some shiny gems, doesn’t it?” He stared at her, his face helpless and desperate. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

        “It means exactly one thing,” Buffy said. “That you wanted to be the hero. And it’s good that you do, because you want to be the villain without your soul. But that doesn’t mean you did it for me, or for Dawn.” She swallowed. “I think you did it for yourself.”

        “That’s not true,” Angel said. “I did it because there was no other choice.”

        “There was another choice,” Buffy said. “If you’d been on my side to start with you could have used that gem to protect Dawn, to stand by my side, to make it so there wouldn’t need to be a sacrifice at all.”

        “But there didn’t… I sacrificed the gem, Buffy. I did that that.”

        “And Dawn sacrificed who knows what power, not to mention her memory, to be safe. Safe from, among other people, you. But her sacrifice means nothing to you, does it?”

        “That’s what she chose, isn’t it?”

        “You don’t understand,” Buffy said. “She shouldn’t have  _had_  to choose.”

        Angel really didn’t understand. She could read it in his eyes. He stood there staring at her for a long moment before he grasped for what pertained to himself. “They’re just rings, Buffy. They’re not our love.”

        “They might as well have been,” Buffy said. “The oracles knew what I was giving over. Our love, shiny enough for what it represented. And I knew it, too.”

        “Knew… what… exactly?”

        “That I didn’t need that ring anymore. I knew from the moment you turned against me, against Dawn, that it was already over.”

        “I  _am_  against Dawn,” Angel snapped. “Her coming, rewriting over our lives, that’s what made things broken. She never forgave what I did when I didn’t have soul, but Buffy, that never happened! Not to Dawn, and not to me. According to Doyle, I never hurt the girl! When I didn’t have a soul, she didn’t even exist.”

        “But what we remember was what  _would_ have happened. And you did hurt other people,” Buffy said. “And you hurt Dawn tonight. Even by siding against me, even by insisting she wasn’t real, that she had no soul, that was hurting her. And it was hurting me, couldn’t you see that? You say you love me, but you’ll hurt me if it suits you.”

        “That’s rich, coming from Spike’s blood-junkie. How many bruises did  _he_  give you?”

        “Don’t bring that into this!” Buffy said.

        “I have to bring that into this,” Angel said. “That’s at the heart of this, now, isn’t it? You want to be free to take up with Spike. He’s evil, Buffy. He doesn’t have a soul.”

        “And you do,” Buffy said. “But that doesn’t make you good.”

        Angel blinked. He looked shocked. “How can you say that?”

        “A good person wouldn’t have tried to take my sister from me. A good person would have been honest with me from the beginning, not lied to me about his past, or his present. A good person would never have tortured another being, even a soulless one, because he lost his temper. A good person wouldn’t do the things you do, Angel.” She reached up and touched his face. “You want to be good,” she told him. “And I’m glad you do. But you’re not, by your actions, a good person.”

        “And Spike is?”

        Buffy let him go, annoyed. “This isn’t about Spike, or how good he is, or even pretends to be. The point now is you and me. And that it’s over.” She couldn’t believe she’d actually said it. Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she continued doggedly on. “I think… we’ve both known it was over for a while now.”

        “Ever since you took up with Spike,” Angel said darkly.

        “From before I took up with Spike,” Buffy said gently. “Angel, that was  _why_  I took up with Spike. I already knew things weren’t working. It wasn’t just the sex thing, it was everything. I was trying to make things work, in my own way, by adding in something else. And it helped for a while.”

        “Spike?” Angel was incredulous. “You’re saying cheating on me with Spike helped our marriage.”

        “It did, didn’t it? Weren’t we happier together when I was also with him?”

        He looked away. He knew they had been.

        Buffy shook her head. “But it couldn’t save things, because it was a lie, too. Being happy with you, even a little bit, was always a lie.”

        “I… I refuse to believe that.”

        “You knew it when you first found out,” Buffy said. “You just don’t want to admit it now. We were never happy. Even after Spike, when you came back and promised things would be different… they weren’t different enough.”

        “Buffy, for the last five months I’ve done everything you’ve wanted. We’ve shared a bed, we’ve been a real husband and wife!”

        “And before that, you were willing to put me away like a naughty child,” Buffy said. “Both before and after the oracles told you about the happiness clause, the change wasn’t in you. Even after things ‘changed,’ nothing really had.”

        “Everything changed,” Angel said.

        “Sex changed,” Buffy said. “But sex wasn’t what kept us apart, and sex couldn’t bring us together, either, could it? Nothing else had changed. You kept treating me like an ignorant little girl. Everything was always on your terms.The limits you set, what we did in bed, whether we went out at night, even whether and where I went to college.”

        “I gave you free choice there.”

        “You  _gave_  me,” Buffy said. “Can’t you hear yourself? You shouldn’t feel magnanimus when I make free choices about my life. I’m not a little girl anymore, Angel. I’m not a virgin, I’m not a child, I’m not in awe of you like I was.”

        “Buffy, this isn’t fair. I know things… changed. But I love you.”

        “You love the idea of me,” Buffy said. “You saw me on the school steps, and you fell in love with me, you said. But you can’t have fallen in love with  _me_. You didn’t even know me. And when we started dating, you still didn’t know me. And then you lost your soul, and I didn’t know you anymore.”

        Angel looked wounded. “I thought you’d forgiven me.”

        “I have forgiven you,” Buffy said. “But I’d tried to forget about it, and that’s not fair to me. You didn’t know me, and I didn’t know you, either. We didn’t really know each other at all until after we were married. And Angel… we’ve never been happy together.”

        “That’s not true.”

        “Isn’t it? We had supposedly one night of happiness, Angel. And do you know what really happened that night?” She fixed her eyes on his, to make sure he heard her. Because this was important. “We made love, Angel, you and me. And _you_ were made perfectly happy. But  _I_ wasn’t sure. When it happened, I wasn’t ready, and I knew I wasn’t ready. I’d had slayer dreams telling me I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure when we did it, and I was scared, and I knew Mom wouldn’t approve, and I simply  _wasn’t ready_.  _You_  were perfectly happy, and _I_  was scared and vulnerable.”

        “You… seemed like you wanted to.” Angel said. His voice was quiet, stunned, even.

        “I did want to. Sort of,” she said. “Because I did love you, and it seemed like we’d gone too far to stop and tell you, no. But I was scared, Angel.”

        “I… didn’t know that.”

        “Well, you should have known that,” Buffy said. “I was a just seventeen year old girl who had never done anything like that before. But you didn’t care about that. You pushed it to happen, or you let it happen, and you should have been old enough and wise enough to stop. Even just for an instant. Ask if it was okay, talk about whether we needed contraception, maybe we could have done something less than out and out sex the first time. But you were selfish. With the soul still in you, you were selfish.”

        “I wasn’t trying to be.”

        “Well… you were. And that’s what made you happy, claiming my virginal body in your own selfishness. You let it happen, and it blissed you out, but I was not made happy by that night. I  _wanted_  to be happy,” she said, her voice coming out small. She still remembered that experience as a trauma. “But I was scared, and I was used, and then you...  destroyed me. And I’ve been trying to pretend you didn’t, because I love you. But Angel… you don’t love me.”

        “That’s not true.”

        “If you had really loved me, you’d have stopped that night. We’d have talked first, you’d have made sure I was ready. And even now. Do you even like to spend time with me?” Buffy asked. “Not when we’re making love, do you want to hang out, and watch Dawson’s Creek with me? Do you like dancing with me at the Bronze? Do you think cheerleading is fun? Do you want to have Christmas with my mom? See, that’s all me, Angel. And so is violent sex, and losing my temper, and the way I love Dawn. Do you love all of that about me?”

        He had a hangdog look as his head lowered. “No one loves everything about another person.”

        “Maybe not,” Buffy said. “I don’t know. I know you  _want_  to love me. But Angel… I don’t think you really do.”

        “I do.”

        “Maybe you do. But without your soul… you can’t.”

        “And what do you think that means?” Angel asked. “I’m not the same person!”

        “But you are,” Buffy said. “This isn’t about Spike, really, but think about it. Without a soul, he stood by me. Without a soul, he protects those he loves. And without a soul, just because I asked, he’s stopped killing. If you lost your soul right now, this instant, and I told you not to kill, what would you do? For the sake of what we’ve had, what would you choose to do?”

        Angel didn’t answer. Probably because they both knew the answer was,  _kill you first_.

        “Deep down inside, in your core, in your heart….” She couldn’t quite say it. He’d never loved her. And he was so wrapped up in himself he’d never realize that he didn’t. She looked down instead. “Maybe your soul loves me. Wrapped up in redemption and purity and whatever it is, it loves me. But I know that the rest of you doesn’t.”

        “I do love you,” Angel whispered softly.

        “And I love you,” she said. And she did love him. She loved his quest to be better, and his puppy dog eyes, and his boyish arrogance. But it wasn’t enough. She should never have let herself think that it could be enough. It had been a teenage crush she’d let get away from her. She was too old to let herself think that way anymore. “But this isn’t going to work,” she said. “Not anymore.” She looked up. “Maybe it never worked from the very beginning.”

        “And you think you’ll make it work with Spike, is that what you think?”

        Buffy laughed. “God, no. I don’t think it will work with anyone. That’s kind of the point. Spike didn’t damage me, Angel. You did. You ruined me even for yourself.”

        Angel gulped.

        “Now I’m going to go and stay with Dawn, because I can’t leave her alone for long. She can’t even remember her name. You should stay here. When we get home… I’ll move my stuff out of the mansion.”

        Angel flinched. “And our marriage…?”

        “Was it ever legal anyway?” Buffy asked. She’d been thinking about this a lot since Spike told her they had been squatting. Nothing about Angel was ever real. “I don’t remember signing a paper. Just like I don’t remember signing a title on the mansion.”

        “Well, I… don’t have a social security number. But the demon who performed the ceremony was very religious, I’m sure that under God….”

        “Maybe it meant something once,” Buffy said. “Under God, or whatever. Even just the words. But they don’t mean anything now.” She stepped forward and held Angel’s hand. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “I think you should stay in LA,” she whispered. “Where your destiny seems to be. I’ll be going back home with my sister.”

        “Buffy,” Angel said as she headed for the door. “You know I love you.”

        She shrugged. “Love isn’t enough.”

        She headed out into the hall and counted the doors to the number she knew was Spike’s. She had to count twice, as there were tears in her eyes, and she missed a few numbers. She wiped her face deftly before she knocked, steeling herself. Dawn opened up with a hand of cards in her fist. “Spike’s teaching me how to play Gin Rummy,” Dawn said. “He says we used to play this all the time.”

        “That’s great,” Buffy said. She joined Spike and Dawn on the bed.

        Spike looked a little better. The burns where Dawn’s power had touched him had already started to heal, making the green veins a paler, more realistic blue, and they seemed a little shorter. Buffy was pretty sure they’d fade away altogether by tomorrow.

        “Where’s Angel?” Spike asked.

        “He’ll be staying in the other room,” Buffy said. She was proud of herself. Her voice didn’t shake too badly.

        It was nothing to Dawn. She couldn’t remember that Angel was supposed to be Buffy’s husband. But Spike’s eyes darted to hers, concerned. He undoubtedly noticed the tears growing again. “You okay?” he asked over Dawn’s head.

        Buffy shook her head. “No,” she said. She touched the tears away with her knuckle before she petted Dawn’s soft hair. “But I will be.”

 


	27. Happy Sometime After

      “So where have you been?” Cordelia asked as Angel settled down into his favorite chair at the Bronze. His eyes were sort of hollow, like he’d been going through a hard time. “It’s been a week or so since the explosion.”

        Angel looked up. “What explosion?”

        “You and Buffy? Shouting outside her house? A fourteen year old girl with amnesia? Buffy’s mom in the hospital?” Cordelia pretended to wipe down the bar. There was more. That Angel and Buffy had broken up. Cordy wasn’t going to believe it until she heard it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s a small town, Angel,” she said, trying to prompt the confession. “There’s not much that doesn’t hit the rumor mill.”

        “I thought you meant a literal explosion,” Angel said. “Was wondering what else I’d missed.”

        He was annoyingly quiet after that. Well, she couldn’t expect him to just come up and say,  _So I left Buffy, and I love you, Cordelia. Run away with me._ It wasn’t the kind of thing people did in real life. Cordelia sighed. “So what’s been going on?”

        “Get me a drink,” Angel said quietly. As Cordy poured him one he said, “Buffy got the last of her stuff today,” he said. “I think I have to stop pretending she’s going to come back.”

        “So you two really are…?”

        “ _Not._  Anymore,” Angel said. He picked up his drink and toasted the air with it. “So much for destiny.” He downed it quickly.

        “You haven’t exactly been sitting at home pining this whole time,” Cordy said, not unsympathetically. “Where’ve you been?”

        “I… thought I might move to LA. There’s this hotel there that I used to really like. The Hyperion? It’s all run down now, but it was cutting edge of elegance when I first stayed there. I… decided to buy it.”

        “Decided to?”

        “Already made the down payment to the city. Got the demons out of it.”

        Cordelia’s face fell. “There were demons?”

        “Well, just one. But it’s cleared, now. Was hoping to fix it up.”

        “Oh.” Cordelia sniffed. She was irritated. “So you’re moving to LA, now?”

        “Yeah,” Angel said. “I keep getting called down there a lot. See the thing is, though, the Hyperion… well, it needs some touches. A woman’s touch, I think. I mean, I can fix it up, but things like new upholstery, design elements. I’m just not good at that sort of thing.”

        “Needs a lot of work, huh?” Cordy asked.

        “Well, some. It’s structurally sound. And full of antiques. Well, they’re antiques now. I mean, it’s beautiful, or I wouldn’t have wanted it. It’s big and luxurious.”

        “Big, huh?”

        “Well, yeah. Hotel. Plenty of rooms. I like a lot of space, since I… don’t get out much in the day anymore.”

        “So you really did give up the ring,” Cordelia said. “I thought that was just part of the rumor.”

        “No, I… you know, I never really liked having it,” he admitted. “The sunlight was beautiful, but… I didn’t really belong inside it, you know?”

        Cordelia stared at him. It didn’t really sound like he was just talking about the sunlight.

        “Anyway, I realized it’s just too big a job. I’m no designer. I might just have to pull out on the deal, unless….” He looked up at Cordy. “Do you really like washing plates and picking up after drunk teenagers?”

        “Yeah,” Cordy snapped. “It’s my dream job.”

        “How would you like… managing my hotel for me, instead?” Angel asked. Cordelia stared. “I mean, at first it’s just going to be restoration work,” he said quickly. “Design stuff, making sure the modern fashion melds with the antiques that are already there. Then, I don’t know what kind of clientele I’ll get. I hope to get some, since I’m going to have it preserved as a historical site. So… find some way to call in fashionistas and educated businesses. You know, the kind of people who appreciate antiques. But I need someone with a more, you know, modern style than what I’ve got, and I thought… if you didn’t like working at the Bronze, that you might enjoy moving back to LA. With me.”

        “With you?” Cordelia asked.

        “I mean, not  _with_  me, it’s a big hotel. I figured you’d have your own room, and I’d have my room, and we’d, you know… work together in the lobby and things, it’s just…. It would be really good to have a beautiful woman at the front desk to make the place complete.”

        Cordelia froze. “Did you… just call me beautiful?”

        Angel looked confused. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

        She reached up and touched her scar. “But I….”

        Angel reached out and took the hand that held the bar rag. “Nothing could stop you being beautiful, Cordelia.” He looked around the Bronze. “You want to get out of this place?”

        “More than ever,” Cordelia whispered.

        Angel smiled. “Then let’s get out of it.”

        Cordelia laughed, unable to hold it back. “Woo! Back to LA!” She peeled off her apron and shouted into the back room, “I’m quitting!” She came around the bar and grabbed Angel’s arm. “You are totally going to have to help me pack, you realize? Because you can’t just call in an experienced designer and then leave her to her own devices to try and get to your facility, that’s just not done. You have a car? Does it have a big trunk? Because I have a  _lot_  of things I’m bringing with me, I’m not just leaving them for storage in Sunnydale, they’ll get rats in them.”

        Angel held the door open for her. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

        “I’m getting out of here at last!” Cordelia said. She kissed Angel on the cheek. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

        “It’s easy to think about you,” he confessed.

        Cordelia tried really hard not to blush. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly come to sweep her off her feet, but he  _had_ come to whisk her off to a better life in the big city. And maybe he wasn’t holding her against the wall and making sweet love to her already, but he was running away with her, and really… wasn’t that enough to start with?

        It was definitely a start. It certainly wasn’t an ending.

       

***

   

        “So that’s the end of it, then?” Joyce asked as Buffy came into the house, bearing a backpack and a box.

        “Yeah, I think I got all the last ends and pieces.” Buffy closed the door behind her. “I am out of Angel’s life for good.” She stopped. “Or, he’s out of mine. Since he’s, you know. Not alive.”

        Joyce started some hot cocoa. It seemed like a hot cocoa kind of night. “Are you okay?” she asked.

        Buffy put the box down on the counter and let the bag off her shoulder. “Yeah,” she said. “It was sort of hard. He tried to get me to stay with him again.”

        “I thought he had arranged to buy some hotel?”

        “In LA, yeah. But he said he’d stay if I wanted to try it again. He said things would be different. He’d try and trust me, and he’d have my back, no matter what happened.”

        Joyce stared at her. “And do you want to try it again?”

        “I’ve given Angel a lot of chances to… be different,” Buffy said. “I can’t do it anymore.”

        Joyce pursed her lips in sympathy. Buffy seemed so sad. “Do you think he understands?” she asked.

        “No,” Buffy said. “And I don’t think he ever will.” She frowned as she sat down at the kitchen counter. “Am I doing the right thing?”

        “What do you mean?”

        “I mean, you’re supposed to stand by your man, no matter what.”

        “As I understand it,” Joyce said, “he’s supposed to stand by you, too. And he hasn’t.”

        “I know, but…  I loved Angel more than I’m ever going to love  _anyone_. You can’t replicate that.”

        “Well, of course you can’t,” Joyce said. “Every person is different, so every love is different. And I don’t think you can measure love by  _more_  or  _less_. Love isn’t like money. You don’t get it in a lump sum and then earn interest on it. You act it. You  _are_  it. And you should like who you are when you do it.” Joyce shook her head. “I think you’re doing the right thing. Angel… never made you happy.”

        Buffy sighed. “No, he never did.” She put her arm on the table and lay down on it, looking exhausted. “Maybe I’m destined never to  _be_  happy.”

        “I don’t think that’s true,” Joyce said. She hesitated a long moment until the hot milk was ready. “So,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant as she mixed up the cocoa. “Spike came by the other night to see Dawn.”

        Buffy looked up. “That’s  _not_  where this conversation is going.”

        “Why not?” Joyce asked.

        “If Spike wanted anything to do with me, he’d have come to see me already.” She glumly picked at her cuticles. “Maybe he’s just got some creep factor on with Dawn.”

        “Do you  _really_  think that?” Joyce asked.

        Buffy sighed. “No,” she said. “But it’s annoying. What’s he doing? You said every time he comes by it’s  _after_ I go on patrol?” She shook her head. “He’s avoiding me for a reason.”

        “Maybe he’s waiting for you to come to him?” Joyce asked.

        Buffy glared. “Why are you pushing me toward Spike, so soon after everything? Shouldn’t you be telling me to wait and just be single for a while? Aren’t you supposed to be all,  _Maybe you should date a human man instead of a vampire?_ ”

        “Buffy, you were called to be a vampire slayer before you even should have been dating,” Joyce said. “If  _I_ can accept that by now, you certainly should have. You are never going to be satisfied with some simple boy who won’t understand what your life is like.”

        “But vampires are murderers.”

        “I’ve already had to deal with that reality,” Joyce said. “You’re also a killer, albeit of demons. If I had to accept that you were okay with Angel, I have to accept that Spike is okay, too.”

        Buffy looked uncomfortable. “Angel has a soul.”

        “And Angel never treated you right, either,” Joyce pointed out.

        Buffy looked down. Joyce wondered if she’d ever admit that was true.

        “Did you always think that?” Buffy asked.

        “Yes,” Joyce said. “I always did.” She hesitated before she confessed this, but she figured it was time Buffy heard it. “There was a time I meant to try and tell him that you weren’t… well… suited. I hoped he would listen before you got any more invested, but… I got distracted. And then I was too late. By the time I got around to being ready to do it, you already had another ring on your finger, and I knew neither of you would see reason.”

        “But we loved each other,” Buffy said. “We really did.”

        “You’ve already said it all yourself,” Joyce reminded her. “Love wasn’t enough to build a life on, not with everything. I know how that works.” She touched Buffy’s hair, sympathetically. “I couldn’t have approved of him, Buffy. He sneaked around behind my back, lied about who and what he was, tried to take you away from me, turned on you, betrayed you, murdered indiscriminately, and ultimately tried to kill Dawn.”

        “When he didn’t have a soul,” Buffy reminded her.

        “And when Spike had no soul, he tried to save her,” Joyce said. “I’m not saying you should go and throw yourself at Spike,” she added. “I was just saying, he came by the other night to check on Dawn.”

        Buffy seemed thoughtful. “How does he look?”

        “The burns seem to have faded by now,” Joyce said. “He looks fine.” She pushed a mug of cocoa into Buffy’s hands. “Here,” she said. “Have some hot chocolate.”

        “Thanks, but I think I should go and patrol,” Buffy said. She pushed the chocolate from her.

        “You just got home.”

        “Telling Angel goodbye for the hundredth time isn’t exactly patrol, Mom,” Buffy pointed out. She took a stake out of the box and made a passing gulp at the hot cocoa. “Thanks,” she added as she headed out the door. Then she stopped, paused, and went back to her mother, hugging her tightly. “Thanks,” she whispered.

        “Any time,” Joyce said.

 

***

     

        “The jerk is always around when I  _don’t_  want him, why is he never around when I  _do_?” Buffy muttered.

        She’d tried patrolling the usual haunts. She’d even gone to the Bronze to see if he was scrounging for blood. No dice. She’d finally had to resort to walking all the way to that crypt he’d been staying in. The place was filled with candles, and had a lot of books. Half the candles were lit. Buffy busied herself lighting a few more of them, assuming that Spike wouldn’t be gone long, if he’d left his candles burning.

        After about twenty minutes Spike came in hesitantly, with a grocery bag in his arms. “Uh… slayer?” he asked. “You’re here?”

        “Yeah. Hi,” Buffy said.

        Spike set the groceries on the step by the door and looked up at Buffy. “Is there a problem?”   

        “Why are you just assuming there’s a problem?” Buffy asked. “You think I’d only come to you for a problem?”

        Spike stared at her as if that was exactly what he thought. “So what are you doing here?”

        “You look better,” Buffy said. “Mom said you looked better, just… I wanted to see for…. What’s in the bag?”

        “Blood and ciggies,” Spike said.

        “Blood?”

        Spike shrugged. “Bit hard to pull off the game every night,” he said. “‘Specially since I can’t get a full belly without taking too much. Easier to get a little more in just buying it from the butcher.”

        “That… that’s….” Buffy swallowed. “That’s really great.”

        “You okay?”

        “No. I mean, yeah. I mean that’s  _really_  great, Spike. That you don’t… that every night you don’t….”

        “Seduce someone into giving me their blood?” Spike asked. “Yeah, I’m a real saint.”

         “That wasn’t what I meant!” Buffy snapped. “Would you just let me be glad about it?”

        “No need to get shirty,” he muttered.

        This wasn’t going the way she’d wanted it to go. She tried to calm down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you, I…. I’m sorry.”

        Spike cocked his head at her, surprised. Then he raised an eyebrow and strode across the room to a makeshift bar in an alcove by some candles. “You want a drink?” he asked.

        “I… no. Yes,” Buffy said. Spike handed her a shot glass full of amber colored liquid. While he took a big swig off the bottle itself, Buffy put the glass to her lips and tried to swallow it like she’d seen people do on television. It was like swallowing lighter fluid, making her stomach roil and her mouth rebel. “Gah, yech, ugh,” she said, her face twisting up.

        Spike grinned at her. “Another?” he asked with his eyebrow lifted.

        “How do you drink this straight?” Buffy asked.

        “Like this,” Spike said, taking another swallow. He let out a sigh after he’d taken it, but that seemed to be his only reaction.

        Buffy set down the shot glass. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean the burns, not the whiskey. Are they… all gone?”

        “Want to take off my clothes and inspect me?” Spike asked, mischief in his eyes.

        Buffy winced. “No,” she said shortly, while at the same time wondering how many burns had been up and down his body. They had looked pretty bad. And yet he’d kept trying to reach for Dawn. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

        He looked down. “I figured you wanted me to.”

        “How’d you figure that?”

        “You’ve been fairly vocal about wanting me out of your life for a while now, love,” Spike said. “Bit hard not to notice.”

        “Well, you never seemed to notice before!” Buffy snapped. “Parading victims around in front of me like they were prom dates, just to make me jealous.”

        “Did it work?”

        “No!” Buffy said. Then she sighed. “Sort of.” She leaned gingerly upon a sarcophagus which Spike had laid cushions and a blanket down on. It wasn’t until she’d already gotten comfortable leaning there that she realized that was probably his bed. She stood up awkwardly, realized there was nowhere better to sit, and leaned back again. She took a deep breath. “Look, I… I’m sorry. The fact that you listened to me, that last night, about the killing. That you kept to your promise even despite Angel… that… that meant a lot.”

        Spike regarded her.

        “And what you did for Dawn, for Mom, what you tried to do, even if it didn’t work. That you stayed on my side, even risking your life….” She swallowed. “That you were risking your life the whole time with me. That… that matters.”

        Spike nodded.

        “See, the thing is I put up a bunch of barriers,” she said. “We got to a space, you and me, where we… we stood… kind of in the same place. And I… liked standing there with you. But then Angel came back, and I had to take that whole thing I had with you and sort of… wrap it up and put it away. I couldn’t keep the thoughts of you in my head the way they were, because things couldn’t work with Angel with you in between us. But it made me really angry at you, because it was hard to put you away, and it’s… hard to take those barriers back down again,” she confessed.

        “I can understand that,” Spike said finally.

        “So, you don’t have to avoid me, okay?” Buffy asked. “And I’m sorry about that. The barriers and the… snapping and all that. Okay?”

        Spike took a step toward her, and Buffy held up a hand. “Just… wait,” she said.

        He raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

        “I’m… I’m not through yet. See, the thing is,” she started. “The thing is, I’ve been married to Angel since I got out of high school. And I really, really loved him. I… probably still sort of love him. Does that make sense? That I can’t be with him, but still love him?”

        Spike nodded, once.

        “And we’ve been together since I was still  _in_  high school. Like, the only time I was really single was when he had lost his soul, and when I thought he was dead, and I don’t think that counts exactly as being single, either, since I was still… I mean he was still kind of all over my life in a way. It’s not as if I’d really been left  _alone_.”

        Spike simply stared.

        “So that’s, like… three or four years of just being with, or sort of with, or really not with Angel, but with Angel like all over, and in my life. And I know that doesn’t seem like a long time, but it was a long time to me. And ever since I met him I never had a moment when I was just, like, me. I was always me in regards to where I was with Angel. All the time.”  

        Spike’s head tilted as he regarded her.

        She stood back up and started to pace a little. “So, see, even though I… care… about you, and we had this… this thing that happened, I wanted to let you know that even though I’m free now, I’m not exactly… ready. I think I need some time to be just  _me.”_ She stared at him. “See, the thing is, I’m cookie dough.”

        Spike’s eyebrows raised. “You’re cookie dough.”

        “Yeah. I’ve got all the pieces and ingredients to be a cookie, but I’m just… I’m not there yet. I need to finish baking first.”

        That look that had passed over Spike’s face as she was drinking was back again. “Are you telling me you’re half baked?”

        “More maybe all unbaky,” she said. “The point I’m trying to make is that I’m not ready. And maybe one day, when I’ve had lots of time figuring out what I’m like when I’m Single Girl, then maybe I’ll be ready to be baked. And when that happens, only when that happens, if someone wants to eat… or, um. Enjoy warm delicious cookie me, then… then maybe we could let that happen. But until then, I just wanted to let you know that we’re… um. Friends.” She held out her hand to shake.

        “Friends,” Spike said with an edge, but he still had that smirk on his face. “Just friends, eh?” He didn’t take her hand. He was sort of advancing on her, very slowly, and Buffy found herself biting her lip. She wondered very much if all the green veins of pain were in fact gone from his chest. Her eyes were drawn to his musculature under his buttoned shirt.

         “Just what you did… what we did… and what you tried to do for Dawn,” Buffy said. “That… all that matters. And I appreciate it. But I wanted you to know… where… where we stand.”

        “With you as cookie dough,” Spike said.

        “Yeah. Not ready for baking and… um… enjoying.”

        Spike had made it to her. How had she ended up so close to the wall? “You know, the thing is,” he said. “I’ve always preferred eating cookie dough to actual cookies.”

        Buffy always had, too, which was why she suddenly wished she hadn’t brought up the analogy. He was right in close to her face, his cool breath tickling against her cheek.         

        “It’s so soft, and sticky, and gooey,” he said. “And it sticks to your fingers so you have to lick it off, and it melts, and gets all warm, then it gets all over your tongue. You can mold it into any shape, or just leave it as it is, no worries. It’s sweet, but there’s none of the harsh crumbling of the cookies, where it all falls apart once you get your teeth into it. No, you can just put it between your lips and suck, and suck, until you feel like you can’t suck anymore. So much more fun than eating boring old cookies.”

        “But there’s… um… raw eggs and stuff in it,” Buffy said. Her voice sounded very small, and there was breath catching in it she wasn’t sure she could control. Spike wasn’t exactly touching her, but she could feel him in her aura, her skin prickling with his nearness. “It’s dangerous.”

        “I love it  _because_  it’s dangerous,” Spike whispered into her ear. “It’s forbidden. But it’s so soft and sweet. And it’s right there for the taking,” he added. His hand was on her arm now, and she could feel his stomach against her hip. “No need to lock it away in a stove, put it through all the time and torture of baking, when it wants to be enjoyed right now.”

        “I don’t think cookie dough  _wants_  anything,” Buffy murmured.

        “It’s your analogy,” Spike said with a grin. He leaned forward and nibbled at her ear. “I just want a taste,” he whispered.

        Buffy gasped. His body against hers always made her tremble. Damn, this was stupid. Why was she denying herself? She reached up and grabbed for his cut chest, hard. She could have shoved him away. She could have ducked aside. She could have kneed him in the groin, thrown him on the ground, and dusted him right then.

        Oh, god, she’d wanted his body under her hands again. “Maybe… maybe just a taste,” she whispered. “Now and then.”

        “Now and then?”

        “Now,” Buffy breathed into his mouth, and she kissed him, a powerful dark kiss, holding his head to hers with her nails digging into his scalp. She was done pretending this wasn’t what she wanted.

        Spike picked her up and pushed her against the wall. Her leather pants tightened over her legs as she wrapped them around him. “Okay,” she said as he pushed her shirt up over her head. “Maybe more than a taste.”

        “You knew what you wanted when you came over here,” Spike said, and he bit at her throat. “You knew what would happen.”

        “Is this why you were avoiding me?” Buffy asked.

        “Well,” Spike hissed in her ear. “You had put up some barriers, yeah?”

        Her bra came off. Buffy found herself scrabbling at Spike’s jeans. They unzipped and fell around his ankles, probably because he let go of her to shove them down. She tore at his shirt, and the buttons popped off. He shrugged it off his shoulders and held her naked, his jewelry glinting in the candlelight. Barriers gone.

        Buffy shoved them off the wall and Spike fell backwards. He grunted as he slammed into the concrete, but his arms held her more tightly. She could feel his hard cock against the seam of her pants, pushing against her, reaching for her. God, the passion Spike had. She whimpered and ground herself into him, too turned on to stop. He didn’t seem to mind. She came quickly, more quickly than she wanted to, but she couldn’t stop moving over him, his body, his strength, all of it ripping her open from the inside as if he really was devouring her.

        “I lied anyhow,” Spike said in her ear, his voice heady. “I want more than a taste. I want the whole package.”

        Buffy rolled over onto the cold, leaf-strewn concrete, pulling Spike on top, and something gave under her. Her shoulder was bathed in coolness. She reached back to grab it, and her hand came back wet and sticky. She sat up quickly, and Spike fell back, startled.

        “Sorry,” he said.

        She’d landed on his bag of blood from the butchers. The plastic bag had burst, and the blood was all over her hand and shoulder. For a split second she thought only  _Ew,_ and she tensed up _._  But then she thought about what it meant, this blood. It meant Spike was serious about his not-being-an-evil-vampire-anymore policy. And he’d chosen that without any chip to hold him back, and no guarantees of her affection. Also… it was already all over her shoulder. She looked hard at Spike, and saw only fear there. Fear that she was about to run off, or pull away, when she didn’t want to.

        She pressed her bloody hand to her breast and slid it off, keeping her eyes on Spike as she did so.

        As the bloody handprint was revealed, Spike’s eyes clouded and went yellow, his fangs grew long in his mouth. “You like that?” she asked.

        Spike didn’t, or couldn’t, answer. He crouched there with his mouth open and his cock hard. Buffy reached for the blood with her other hand, and plastered another handprint over her other breast, and then slid both hands down her belly. Spike growled. Or was it a purr? It was hard to tell. “You want…?” she began, but suddenly Spike lunged for her and pulled her up against him, swinging her around in what seemed like joy.

        “I love you,” he growled through his fangs. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He lay her back on his cushioned sarcophagus and began to lick the blood off her. “Oh, slayer.”  His teeth grazed her skin, and Buffy tilted her head back. It felt marvelous, being eaten alive like this, without any (or, well, much) pain. Oh, this was absolutely demonic. She was covered in animal blood, being worshiped by a vampire, on a throne of death. She really ought to ask Willow if this was a spell for something other than being filled with a fire of absolutely wicked desire.

        She sucked in a breath and sighed as Spike’s tongue laved at her, licking her all over, and suddenly Buffy laughed. Partly because it tickled, and partly because she knew, without a doubt, that there was no way that Angel, despite his vampirism, would  _ever_  have done this with her. Was that the soul, or was it just Angel being unable to face himself? The same way he couldn’t face the real Buffy. She couldn’t stop giggling.

        Spike glanced up, his yellow eyes amused, blood staining his face. “What’s funny, slayer?”

        “You’re still… you’re a demon.”

        “I am,” he said evenly.

        “I mean you’re still willing to be a demon. With me.” She sat up and pulled his face to her, kissing him warmly, the taste of blood staining her own mouth. She remembered poor Angel, trying to hide his demon face from her, saying she should never have to see him like this, and how she’d pulled him to her, touching his ridges, gazing into his eyes. She’d wanted to kiss his mouth then, feel his teeth. She’d wanted not just Angel, but Angel as a vampire. And he didn’t want that, she knew he didn’t. He wanted to pretend he wasn’t what he was.

        He wanted to pretend she wasn’t what she was, either. A hunter, a killer, a slayer of demons. A woman vibrant and alive, electric in her sexual energy, starving for the hunger of the vampire before her. Angel would never, ever have understood her. Not in the bedroom, and maybe not anywhere else.

        But she wanted Spike as a vampire. And he wanted her for the slayer she was. She loved how he was willing to change for love of her. She loved how he’d fight for her. She loved how he’d hurt her, just enough. She didn’t want him evil-killing-machine, but she wanted him as the demon he wanted to be.  

        She dug her nails into his shoulders. Spike groaned and hugged her tightly, pressing her against his bare chest. “Oh, god, I think I love you,” she whispered into his mouth.

        Spike pulled away, his demonic face falling away in an instant. He stared at her with such awe that Buffy felt shy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

        “And what… would that be?” he asked, sounding a little stunned.

        “I’m not ready for… um… baking. Again. It’s just that I… I do... sort of... love you.” She swallowed. “I realized it that night in the front hall, when you were so… and I was so….” She trailed off. “It’s there, but even with that, I’m not… I’m really not....”

        “Looking for another ring?” Spike asked.

        “Exactly,” Buffy said. “Yes, exactly.”

        He grinned. “I can live with that.” He pushed her back onto the sarcophagus and sat back. Most of the blood had been licked off her already. “Please let me get these off you,” he insisted, pulling at the leather pants.

        Buffy arched her back and let him strip her naked. Before she’d even gotten back down properly Spike had jumped catlike onto the cushions with her and had pressed his cock against her fur, finding his way inside. “Oh, god, yes,” he breathed. “At long last.”

        “It hasn’t been that long.”

        “Speak for yourself,” Spike glared down at her. “You’ve had Angel, I’ve only had your photograph.”

        “You kidding?” Buffy asked. “He was  _so damned uptight_.” She squeezed him with her inner muscles and he groaned. “Does that mean you weren’t…?”

        “With my victims?” Spike asked. “No, I wasn’t.”

        The idea that he’d stayed loyal despite everything made her love him even more. “Oh, god, fuck me hard,” she begged.

        “All right,” he said. “I’ve got you,” he hissed. “I’ve  _got_  you.”

        He did her exactly as hard as she asked for, thrusting so hard and so fast she ended up half off the edge of the sarcophagus, but she didn’t care. She held onto his shoulders, her feet up around his waist, her body full of him, moving with him, satisfied with him. He yelled, coming hard enough inside her she could feel his coolness filling her. Then he slowed down, but didn’t pull away. He lifted her by her shoulders and rearranged her comfortably on the pillow, and then slowly and steadily fucked her even more.

        “We need to talk,” Buffy said, but she didn’t stop grinding her hips up against him.

        “Right  _now?_ ” Spike asked.

        “I  _hate_  watching you hunt.”

        “I know you do,” Spike said. “Why do you think I did it in front of you?”

        “Oh,” Buffy said, partly because he’d hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Um, could you, um, stop it?”

        “You want me to stop entirely?” Spike asked. “You’re gonna starve me, slayer.”

        “You can live on animal blood. I hate having to clean up after you with cookies and orange juice.”

        “Aw.” He pouted. “How’m I supposed to live without the bite?”

        Buffy stared up at him. “You can bite me.”

        Spike’s eyes traveled down her, and he kept fucking her.

        “I mean… it’s not as if you want to kill me, do you?”

        “I absolutely want to kill you,” Spike said. “But it would be a waste.”

        “You don’t remember the night you were sick, do you?” Buffy asked. “When you were starving for the drugged blood.”

        Spike slowed down in his thrusts, but he kept staring at her. “Not that part.”

        Buffy remembered that part. He’d curled up in her arms like a little boy, sweating and shaking and terrified, and she’d held her arm to his mouth. He’d clamped down for only an instant and then sucked and sucked, his shakes easing, his body relaxing, and she’d felt as if… she’d come home, somehow. Maybe it was just the same thing that kept the blood junkies coming back to Harmony and her crew. But maybe there was something more to it. Maybe she’d loved him already.

        “If you stop hunting, I’ll be there for you,” she said.

        He stared for a long time. “That could be worth it. But you won’t slake all my thirst.”

        “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be hard,” she said. “I know it can’t be often, ‘cause I actually don’t want you to kill me. But… I want… I mean, would you? For me.”

        He hesitated.

        She locked her eyes with his. “I want to be the only one you feast on,” she whispered.

        Spike groaned and bent down to her throat. Some part of her wondered if he meant to bite her there and then, but he only kissed her neck and shoulder. “Oh, god, you know I’d be your willing slave if you asked it of me,” he whispered.

        “I’d rather you were my equal,” Buffy said.

        Spike looked down at her fondly, and caressed her cheek. “How did this happen?” he asked quietly. “What dark miracle led us to this?” He smiled down at her, and made a deep, hard thrust. “Tell me where to bite you,” he growled low.

        “Just not too deep. I don’t want scars,” Buffy whispered, and Spike chuckled. He shook his head into his fangs and then traced them up her body. She gasped as it sent a shiver through her.

        “I will make your neck my chalice,” Spike’s voice hummed against her throat. “And drink from you with reverence. I love you, Buffy.”

        “I love you,” Buffy whispered, so low even she couldn’t hear it. A moment later a bite of pain cut through her her neck, and Spike grunted with pleasure. She screamed out, but the pain lasted only a moment before it faded under his tongue. She felt his tongue and his teeth as he sucked and sucked at her flesh, caressing her with little licks. The cool moisture on her neck seemed to twist all the way through her body until it landed in her groin, and she thrust up and around Spike, wanting as much as he had to give. He realized she was close, and he sped up, holding her close, his face buried in her neck. “Unh!” She came softly, clenching around him, and then he wouldn’t let her go, but continued to push, push her past that safe zone and over the edge to where she was yelling and screaming, her voice echoing around the candlelit chamber.

        He had pulled away by then, and was watching the look on her face with rapt adoration. Buffy was hot, sweating, out of breath, but she felt so content. Spike was here, he wanted her, despite everything she had done, or let happen, to him. He had no soul, but he was working hard to be good. And without his soul, it was clear that he loved her. And maybe… for all she knew, maybe one day…. Regardless, it didn’t matter now. She was cookie dough, and she could just be enjoyed as she was without having to form herself into perfectly shaped cookies.

        And maybe Spike was cookie dough, too. She was kind of eager to see what he’d shape into, in the end.

        Spike’s look of adoration shifted to a self-satisfied smirk on his bloodstained face. “The things you do,” he whispered. “Good god, your passion. Never been with anything like you.” She shivered at his voice, and he pulled away from her.

        “No,” Buffy said. She didn’t want to let him go.

        “Hang on,” he said. He left her, then came back again a second later with his face clean, and a blanket he’d pulled from somewhere. He tucked it around her and crept beneath it with her, holding her close on the narrow lid. “You get cold,” he said to her softly.

        “Well, I’m still human,” she said, cuddling down against him. “For the most part.”

        “You’re not just human,” Spike said. “You’re the slayer. And I love every inch of you.” He caressed her cheek. “Unbaked, dangerous, and all.”

        Buffy’s eyes opened wide. “Great,” she said. “Now I want cookie dough.”

        He chuckled. “Want to share?”

        She looked up at him, smiling a little, and reached up to give him a warm, dark kiss. “Yeah,” she said. “Actually, I think I do.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who did any beta work, and thank you to all you wonderful readers who followed all the way to the end. You're all awesome!


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